


Drowning in Sunny Skies

by Emoryems



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-25
Updated: 2011-08-25
Packaged: 2017-10-23 01:19:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emoryems/pseuds/Emoryems
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt meets someone at the Lima Bean, thinking he’s found the perfect boyfriend.  He is sadly mistaken.  AU branching off from BIOTA. Written for a prompt on the angst meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drowning in Sunny Skies

**Author's Note:**

> I added this to AO3 with the current date only because I added to some scenes, etc. since posting it originally, so there is some new material. If you've seen this around before I'm sorry :/

Drowning In Sunny Skies

 

~

 

Kurt trails a finger around the cardboard cup in front of him, feeling the smooth curve of it.  As he lifts the drink to his lips and takes a sip, grimacing at how cold it has become, his eyes catch on the other cup still sitting across from him. There is no characteristic spot of wetness around the opening; there is no lifted corner on the snug sleeve.  It is just a full cup of coffee.

 

Setting his drink back down in front of him and clenching his jaw, Kurt pulls his eyes away from the empty spot across from him, and looks out the window.  The sun has moved to shine in his eyes, but the blinding brightness is, in this case, a good thing.  It helps hide the fading dampness that has been lingering at the edges of his eyes for the past hour.

 

When they had come in, him and Blaine, he hadn’t expected anything other than yet another good time with his friend.  He had thought that they were going to laugh about the crazy goings-on at the Berry residence the night before.  He thought he was going to get to tease the other boy endlessly about drunken kisses with one Rachel Berry.

 

He had not expected to be thrown one hell of a curveball. 

 

Now that Kurt has had over an hour to sit and think, he knows that what had gone down could have gone a whole lot better.  And, even if he doesn’t really want to admit it, he could have handled the situation with a lot more patients.

 

Any disgruntled anger had dissipated only moments after Blaine had thrown out the last parting snipe and stormed out the door.  With the blanket of calm melancholy that had stolen over him came a rush of revelation and regret.

 

He might not completely understand what it means to like both girls and boys, and he might not agree with how Blaine is going about his experimentation, but he really had messed up. 

 

A year ago Kurt might have bombarded one of his girl friends with a lengthy rant about exactly how wrong Blaine had been, how absurd the whole idea had been.  But one of the things Blaine said had hit a nerve. 

 

Was he really becoming a Karofsky? Did his comment (and now, when he thinks back to the words, how they were said) really put him on the same level as the closeted Neanderthal that used to harass him to no end?

 

Even thinking about the implications of that made him feel sick. 

 

“Hey man, are you using this?” The voice comes from above him, and Kurt blushes as his eyes meet those of a tall man that looks a few years older than him.  The man is smiling slightly and indicating the chair that would normally be filled.

 

“N-no,” says Kurt, allowing a closed-lipped smile to grace his features.  “Not at all.”

 

The guy nods thankfully and picks the chair up to join a table of college-aged men and women.  As he is about to sit he looks over at Kurt and licks his lips before saying, “Thank you.”

 

Nodding again, even though the other man has turned away, Kurt sighs and goes back to staring out the window. 

 

He’ll have to apologise.  There is no way around it, and he knows that if he doesn’t he’ll just feel horrible.  He can only hope that Blaine will give him a chance to make this right.

 

Feeling the conviction fill him with some sort of hope, Kurt stands, pulling his bag over his shoulder and picking up both his and Blaine’s coffee cups to throw away.  As he turns to walk away from the table, however, he is blocked by the same man who had just borrowed the other chair from his table.

 

He cranes his head back to meet the bright blue-grey eyes and raises a brow.  “Hello,” he says.

 

“Hi,” the man says back, shifting slightly. “I just,” he starts, “I just wanted to ask if you would ever possibly be interested in going out.”

 

Both of his eyebrows have migrated upward now, and Kurt can feel a fluttering in his chest.  He’s never been asked out before, excepting by Brittany during his trucker phase, and he doesn’t quite know how to respond.

 

The guy seems to have noticed the blush rising on Kurt’s face and smirks. “I mean, if you’re interested, that is.”

 

Kurt licks his lips. “Um. Yeah, that would be good.” He immediately wants to bash his head into the nearest wall for his fumbled attempt at an answer, but not only would that make him look insane, it would mess up his hair.

 

“Excellent,” the guys says, holding up a piece of paper ripped from the corner of a larger, lined piece, “otherwise this would have been slightly disappointing to have to get rid of later.”

 

Kurt laughs lightly, amused.  “Glad I could keep you in good spirits.”

 

The piece of paper, which has been folded in half, is still held in front of him.  Kurt struggles for a moment, trying to decide if he should turn around and place the coffees back on the table so he can grab it, or if maybe he should stack one on top of the other to free one hand, when the problem is solved for him.  The taller man leans forward and tucks the paper into the pocket of his Dalton blazer.

 

As he leans away, hand trailing just barely over Kurt’s lapel, he says, “I’m Ian, by the way.”

 

Chest tight and eyes wide, Kurt breathes out, “Kurt.”

 

“I’ll let you go then, Kurt.  It was nice to meet you.  I hope to hear from you soon.” He turns away, back to where his friends are sitting and watching them.  Kurt is left, paper sticking from his pocket, and feeling elated.

 

~

 

It is early evening by the time Kurt gets home and he immediately retreats to his room to change out of his uniform, shrugging the blue blazer from his shoulders with grace. He hesitates with the material held by its collar and stares at the front pocket.

 

He would almost think that the man’s – Ian’s – invitation for a date was a figment of his imagination, some fairytale scripted by his mind in an effort to brighten the dreary skies of his life, if it weren’t for the corner of paper visible. On that piece of paper is a number that tells him that someone, some man who doesn’t even know him, is interested in him.

 

He thinks of Blaine and the last few months at Dalton, of how he had almost immediately fallen in love with the dark-haired boy. How he still feels like there is something missing from him with Blaine there, how he wants to just be with him, laugh with him.

 

With a pang of sadness and of hope ringing in his chest, he pulls out the piece of paper and types the number into his phone, hitting ‘dial’ mere seconds after the final number is entered.

 

~

 

When Rachel rushes off amidst an artistic frenzy, Kurt watches her back for a moment.  He doesn’t know exactly how he feels about what just happened.

 

A little disappointed, happy, more than slightly righteous.  Most of all he just wants to sit down and talk things over with Blaine.

 

The other boy has been avoiding him at school, only answering his texts with single words, if at all.  The distance this whole debacle has put between them is painful, and he wants his best friend back.

 

“So you heard that, huh?”

 

Kurt jerks his gaze upward, taking in the defensive posture of Blaine’s shoulders and the cold, shuttered look in his eyes.  This is going to be more difficult than he thought.

 

“Go ahead, say it.  You were right.”

 

Kurt bites his lip and shakes his head. “I was wrong.”

 

Blaine’s eyebrows go up and he says, “I know.”

 

Feeling a twinge of hurt in his chest, Kurt indicates the chair across from him.  “Can we talk?”

 

Blaine hesitates, eyeing the door like he’s going to leave.

 

Kurt’s stomach clenches in anxiety, and he knows, as Blaine looks down at him again, that it must be reflecting in his eyes.  The harshness in the other boy’s eyes relinquishes exponentially, and he sets his coffee on the table and takes a seat.

 

“I need to apologise,” Kurt says immediately, looking into Blaine’s eyes.  “I was out of line, and as much as I would like to blame high emotion on what I said, I can’t.”

 

Blaine says nothing, just continuing to stare expectantly.

 

Licking his lips and threading his hands together, Kurt braces himself internally.  “When you said-” Kurt cuts off, clearing his throat.  “When you said what you did – about how I was acting.  How I was like Karofsky.”  His eyes have dropped to the table.

 

“Kurt,” Blaine starts to say, and his voice is softer now.

 

Kurt doesn’t give him time to continue, knowing that if he does he’ll never get through what he wants (needs) to say.  “It’s. It made me angry, at first, and then it made me think.  I’ve had all of these things thrown at me, all of these horrible words and actions, and they are based in prejudice.” Kurt pauses, his eyes glancing up quickly to Blaine’s face and away again.  “It scares me that I might be the person behind that.”

 

Kurt smiles at Blaine, sadness in his features.  “I should have supported you.  Tried to help you.  Instead I acted just like all of the people who have been making my life hell forever.”

 

Blaine leans across the table and takes one of Kurt’s hands in his own.  “Hey – no.”  He gives Kurt’s fingers a squeeze.  “Yeah, you said some stuff that hurt me.  You said some things that were rash, but you are _nothing_ like them.”

 

Kurt looks into the brown eyes of his friend, searching.  He finds reassurance and forgiveness.  He doesn’t know if he should get it this easy, but it fills him with relief any way.

 

“I just hope you know that I’m sorry.  And that I’ll try my best to do better with supporting you, no matter what.” 

 

“I’m sorry, too,” Blaine says. “We both said things, did things, that were out of line.” Blaine smiles at him then, giving his hand one last squeeze before pulling away. “Do you want to do something tonight?  We can catch up over a movie.” 

 

Kurt shakes his head.  “I can’t, not tonight.”

 

Blaine gives him a questioning look. “Oh?”

 

A blush starts to make its way onto Kurt’s face, leaving a path of warmth in its wake.  “Yeah.  I have a date.”

 

The blatant surprise that comes over Blaine’s face is almost insulting.  “Really? That’s – wow, that’s unexpected.  Who is he?”

 

“His name is Ian.” 

 

“And?” Blaine prompts.

 

“He asked me out a few days ago.  Here, actually – he was here with some friends and borrowed the extra chair from my table.”  Kurt sips at his coffee.  “We’re going to Breadstix tonight.”

 

“Well,” Blaine says, “I hope you have a good time, then.” 

 

When they grab their coffee cups and head for the door, Kurt gives himself a little shake.  He must have imagined the disappointed look behind Blaine’s smile. 

 

~

 

When he walks in the front door three minutes before his curfew, Kurt has a smile plastered on his face.  His cheeks are bright and rosy, eyes glassy, and lips tinged more deeply than usual.

 

Ian is amazing – he was a complete gentleman the entire night, making Kurt feel like he was someone special. Who deserved to be treated like he was royalty.

 

He just had the _best_ first date imaginable. 

 

~

 

Kurt is out shopping with Mercedes on a Saturday afternoon when he can’t hold it in any longer.

 

“I’ve got a boyfriend,” he blurts out as his friend is walking out of a changing room, tugging at the bottom edge of a potential shirt.

 

Freezing in place, Mercedes just looks at Kurt for a few seconds before letting out an ear-splitting squeal and launching herself at him.  She grabs both of his hands in hers and bounces up and down in excitement, causing Kurt to smile and laugh with her.

 

“He finally asked?” Mercedes pulls him into a hug, and Kurt only barely manages to refrain from complaining about her wrinkling his shirt. It’s Dior.

 

It takes a moment for the words to sink in, and when they do Kurt feels slightly disappointed, but not anywhere near as bad as he could have.  It seems that dating Ian is a balm to the wounds of his unrequited crush.

 

“No, no, Mercedes,” he says, pulling away to arm-length. “Not Blaine.”

 

“Oh,” she says. “Okay boy, you had better spill.”

 

Mercedes is giving him a firm look, one that says he has broken the tell-all rule of best-friendship, and has propped one hand on her hip. The pose serves to accentuate the cut of the shirt, and Kurt steps back to get a better look.

 

“His name is Ian.” Kurt twirls a finger to tell Mercedes to spin so he can get a look from all angles.  “We met at the Lima Bean.”

 

“How does it look?”

 

“Great. Just like I said it would.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Gloat all you want.”

 

Kurt smiles. “I will, thank you.” Taking one last look, Kurt nods authoritatively. “Definitely a keeper. Next.”

 

Walking back to the changing room and shutting the door, Mercedes’ voice floats over the top. “So who is he?  Is he hot?”

 

“He lives in Lima, goes to school here. And very.”

 

“He doesn’t go to McKinley, does he?” Mercedes’ voice is muffled, obviously blocked by material.

 

Shaking his head and examining his nails, Kurt replies, “Oh, no.  He’s a second year student at the college.”

 

“What?” Mercedes’ voice is suddenly closer as she opens the door, new shirt in place. “The college? Isn’t he a little old?”

 

Kurt cocks his head, examining the shirt as he replies, “No, not really.  He’s only twenty, and I’m over the age of consent.”

 

Mercedes raises her brows at him.

 

Kurt, realizing what he’s said, shakes his head. “Oh. I didn’t mean it like that, Mercedes.”

 

“Sure you didn’t,” she says, teasing. “What do you think?” She twirls slowly, arms out of the way.

 

“Not bad, but the last one was better.” Kurt looks again. “Although, it would go wonderfully with those skinny jeans from last week.”

 

“You think?” Mercedes looks in the mirror, considering. “Are you happy with him?”

 

Smile taking his lips, Kurt meets Mercedes’ eyes in the mirror. “Yeah.  He’s good to me.”

 

Nodding with authority, Mercedes says, “Good. Otherwise I’d have to cut a bitch.”

 

~

 

They haven’t been dating long, and Kurt hasn’t even considered how fast they should or shouldn’t be going in the relationship.  All he knows is that he doesn’t want it to end.

 

The way Ian showers him with affection makes him feel good.  Every time the other boy takes his hand and holds it in his own connects them in a way that Kurt has never experienced before.  When Ian’s arms wrap around him he gets warm; it feels like he’s wrapped in a comforting blanket. 

 

Little things, like when Ian drops his chin down to rest on Kurt’s shoulder, as he is apt to do, leaves a grin on Kurt’s face for hours.

 

Kurt is coming to realize how much he enjoys physical affection.  How much he loves being able to connect with someone in that way. And Ian is always touching him, holding him, making him feel adored.

 

Kurt sighs in happiness, cuddling into Ian’s side as they sit in front of the TV.  When he feels a shift of movement, he looks up and meets Ian’s eyes.

 

“Comfy?”

 

Nodding, Kurt says, “Yeah.  You make a good pillow.”

 

Ian laughs and tightens the arm he has wrapped around Kurt’s shoulders. “What, do I have too much padding?”

 

Giggling, Kurt pokes his boyfriend in the side. “Nope.  Just the right amount.” 

 

Ian lets out a breathy laugh, deep and almost growling, that sends butterflies dancing in Kurt’s stomach. Without thinking, he turns further into Ian’s arms and tilts his face up so that he is mere inches from the older man’s lips with his own, his breath ghosting over stubble-laced skin.

 

Ian looks down at him again, the tilt of his head causing their lips to brush, and Kurt jolts forward so that he can kiss Ian with a fervour that he hadn’t known he could muster.  It feels good – no, it feels _amazing_ – to touch and be touched like this. 

 

Ian’s arm moves from around his shoulder and his hands latch onto Kurt’s waist, pulling him in close so that their chests are pressed together, and Kurt moans at the contact. Kurt is a romantic at heart, he knows this, but there is a fire racing in his veins that seems like it will never die down, leaving him feeling like a wanton mess.

 

As they progress, Kurt eventually rising to his knees so that he can straddle Ian on the couch, Kurt relishes the new experiences, the way hands feel as they brush over his clothes and clench in his muscles. The way his tongue darts from his mouth to Ian’s, gliding along ridges of teeth and pressing against Ian’s own tongue – it’s all so new. All so incredibly arousing.

 

It isn’t until Ian slips a hand under Kurt’s shirt, his fingers stroking over Kurt’s bare back, that something different, something unpleasant, starts to build in his gut.

 

It all feels so good, every little touch they share and every noise Ian makes as Kurt moves against him, but the touch of Ian’s hand under his clothes feels different. Like there is something distinctly wrong about the action.

 

It takes Kurt a moment, one where his attention wanes from the heavy make out session and turns inward, to figure out what it is.

 

Kurt wears his clothes like a shield; even though he loves fashion and looking amazing, the clothes also function in another way by hiding him. Having Ian’s hand under them and touching him is more than he is comfortable with, especially so soon into their relationship.

 

He doesn’t know what to do, not really, and Kurt is lost for a moment. He doesn’t want to stop kissing Ian, but he doesn’t feel comfortable with the way the man is touching him.  With that thought an idea comes to him.

 

Moving slowly, keeping contact with Ian’s lips and tangling his right hand in the short hair at the base of Ian’s neck, Kurt reaches behind him with his left hand and follows Ian’s hand up and under his shirt. He ever-so-slowly intertwines their fingers together, pulling the larger digits from his skin, and tugs their clasped hands out of his clothes to rest on his jean-clad thigh.

 

Ian does little more than squeeze Kurt’s hand in his own, his attention fixed on Kurt’s lips and then neck as he starts to trial kisses and caresses down the pale column, to acknowledge the change.

 

Relieved that Ian hadn’t questioned his actions, Kurt pulls his boyfriend’s face back up so that he can kiss him on the lips again, using the action as a way to deter Ian from trailing any further down his body.

 

Worry twirls in Kurt’s mind and he knows that they will have to talk. That he will have to tell Ian that he just isn’t comfortable with going so fast, at least not physically.

 

They pull apart with a little wet smack and Ian smiles at Kurt, his lips swollen and shining. Kurt smiles back, and as quickly as possible, lands one last peck on Ian’s lips before settling back down on the couch, side pressed into Ian’s. 

 

As he focuses back on the movie, Kurt pretends to have not noticed the disappointed look that had flashed over Ian’s features.

 

~

 

Kurt is sitting in the Lima Bean with Blaine, a hot coffee in hand as he watches his friend devour a cookie. 

 

“I have no idea how you can eat so much and not weigh a ton.” Kurt can’t decide if he is staring in awe or in jealousy.  He likes his figure, and he likes his clear skin, but he has to work for it.  Unlike Blaine.  The lucky bastard.

 

Blaine looks up, amusement in his eyes. “Good genes, I guess.”

 

“Hmm. You and Ian both.” Kurt smiles at the thought of his boyfriend. His _boyfriend_.  It’s such a strange and wonderful thought.

 

Blaine stops eating, wiping his lips on a napkin. “How’s that going?”

 

Kurt can’t keep the grin from his face. “It’s amazing.  He’s amazing.”

 

“That’s great, Kurt,” Blaine says, beaming at him.  Kurt can’t help but notice how it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, not the way his smiles usually do.

 

“Are you interested in anyone?” Kurt takes a sip of his coffee.

 

Blaine shakes his head dismissively. “No.  I’m focusing on my studies and the Warblers right now.”

 

Kurt doesn’t know what to think of that, and he wonders if that is Blaine’s way of saying he should be, too.  But Blaine is his best friend, and he has supported Kurt since the beginning with Ian.  With being happy.  So Kurt decides to ignore the undercurrents of the conversation.

 

“What are you doing tonight?”

 

Blaine shrugs, and Kurt’s eyes are caught on the movement of his Dalton blazer over his shoulders. “Nothing, really.  Why? Did you want to do something?”

 

Kurt gives Blaine an apologetic look. “Oh, no. I’m going to Ian’s tonight.  He promised to watch The Sound of Music with me.”

 

Kurt regrets the loss of time with Blaine, but Ian is so amazing to be around that he just can’t seem to pull away.  Even if the shadow of their impending conversation looms over his head.

 

“Oh,” says Blaine, going back to his cookie. “Well then.  I hope you have a good time.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

~

 

When Kurt gets home he goes straight to his room, shutting the door behind him.

 

He doesn’t know what to do.

 

There are hand-shaped red marks emblazoned on his skin where Ian had held too tight, a line of hickies down his neck, and a patch of stubble-burn on his jaw.

 

He looks a mess; he’s not much better on the inside.

 

It feels so good when he’s with Ian, and he always has a wonderful time. Except tonight. Tonight had been more than he was prepared for.

 

Usually when they go out to a movie or to dinner at Breadstix, he and Ian talk and laugh and have a good time. But tonight had been different.  Ian had been different.

 

Kurt likes making out with his boyfriend – that isn’t a problem – but Ian had wanted more than kissing and groping, and Kurt doesn’t think he’s ready.

 

He had meant to talk to Ian about boundaries, about what he was comfortable with, but somewhere between the passionate kisses and the hard hands he’d lost his nerve.

 

He does want to have sex.  Eventually.  But he wants it to be special; with someone special who thinks he is special, too.  He likes Ian, and he thinks that maybe in a couple of months they could be that for each other, but right now it’s too new. 

 

Maybe it makes him frigid, or a bad boyfriend, but he wants romance.  He wants candlelight dinners and rose petals and slow dancing. 

 

He’d thought that was what Ian wanted, too.  Until tonight when a clever manoeuvre from Kurt wasn’t enough, when his hands had been hard on Kurt’s arms and hips, lips pressing with urgency against Kurt’s.  Hips grinding down in a way that made Kurt gasp with pleasure, and then push him away. 

 

He isn’t ready.

 

~

 

When Kurt gets home late on Friday afternoon he is exhausted.  His shoulders are sagging in a completely uncomplimentary way, ruining his usually excellent posture, and his buttocks have fallen asleep during the long commute between Dalton and Lima.  As much as he enjoys Dalton, especially the zero-tolerance policy, he wishes it wasn’t so far away from home.

 

As he walks up to the front door of his house he takes in the exterior, just letting his eyes gaze over the colour and texture of the siding, the slightly-chipped window sills. It isn’t the house he grew up in, the house that he has so many memories in, but it still feels like home.

 

The front door opens with the slightest of squeaks, the warmer air of the house immediately rushing over Kurt’s skin.  It smells of roses and lemon cleaner.

 

Kurt passes his dad and Finn in the living room on the way to the stairs and waves ‘hello’ before making his way to his room to drop off his bag and coat.  The stairs seem more daunting than normal, the exhaustion of the long drive only building on that of the semester.

 

When he gets back downstairs Kurt can smell dinner cooking, and heads for the kitchen, where he finds Carole busy tossing a salad.  Walking up beside his stepmom, Kurt says, “Do you need a hand?”

 

Carole turns to him and smiles, pulling him into a short hug. “No, no, sweetie, that’s okay.  You go and watch some TV while I finish up; it won’t be long.  Thank you for asking.” 

 

Kurt nods and smiles and makes his way into the living room.  His dad looks up from the TV and pats the couch next to him, where Kurt makes his way to and practically collapses down. 

 

Finn looks over at him and waves in greeting before he focuses back on the program, and Kurt shakes his head fondly.  Finn is such a _boy_.

 

The next two hours go by in a blur of good food and comfortable conversation with his family.

 

As he puts his fork down and leans back in his chair, Kurt looks around the table and takes everything in.  He sees Finn and his dad in the midst of a lively conversation about sports with Carole watching them, a light smile tugging at the corners of her lips.  There are empty plates in front of them all, except for a small corner of Finn’s where he’s sequestered the beets as inedible. 

 

Seeing his family together like this reminds Kurt of why the Friday dinners are so important.  Of why they are a ritual. 

 

~

 

At six thirty that evening Kurt’s phone buzzes to signify a text, and Kurt picks it up to look. 

 

 _Want to come over? --- Ian_

 

The invitation fills Kurt with excitement and little bit of anxiety.  Ian has been so wonderful about everything, has shown Kurt what it’s like to be close to someone in ways that Kurt has never experienced before.  He makes Kurt feel good.

 

But Ian is older and has experience.  He might not say it explicitly, but Kurt can tell that he wants to do more. Sexually.

 

And Kurt still hasn’t managed to gather up the courage to talk to him about it.

 

Shaking the thoughts from his mind, Kurt replies with a ‘ _yes_ ’ and sits at his vanity to primp.

 

Kurt’s phone announces a new text half an hour later, and Kurt stands from where he has been fussing with his hair to look out the window. Ian’s car is parked out front, the late-evening sun reflecting off of its polished surface. 

 

Picking up his phone and bag on the way to the door of his room, Kurt absently glances at the text, which simply says ‘ _I’m here_ ’. On the way past Finn’s door Kurt glances inward, waving a quick ‘goodbye’ to his stepbrother. Finn waves back nonchalantly, hands occupied with a videogame controller.

 

As Kurt passes through the living room he pauses beside his father, who is watching a program on TV. “Dad?” he asks. “I’m going out for a couple of hours.”

 

Burt keeps his eyes on the screen. “Mercedes’?”

 

“No,” Kurt says, carefully, “to a friend of mine, Ian’s, house.  We’re going to watch a movie or two.”

 

One brow rising as he turns to look at his son, Burt questions, “Ian?”

 

Trying to keep the blush he can feel rising from his features, Kurt nods. “He’s a friend.  We met a couple of weeks ago.”

 

Burt pins him with a stern gaze, his blue-green eyes glowing from the light of the television. “Keep your phone on.  And be back by eleven.”

 

Relief flooding through him, Kurt smiles and nods.  “Of course.” He then walks to the front door where he pulls on a pair of shoes and shrugs on a coat.

 

The ride to Ian’s dorm is short, and Kurt spends the time singing along to the radio.  He is belting out the lyrics to Bad Romance when he notices Ian turning to glancing at him again and again.

 

“What? Am I annoying you?”

 

Ian shakes his head and laughs. “No, no. It’s just – you’re really good.”

 

A thrill of happiness running through him, Kurt grins. “Thanks.”

 

~

 

There is a movie playing in the background, the soundtrack filled with loud explosions and gruff voices.  Kurt thinks that he might have known what it was when they had started it an hour ago, but he has lost the ability to think beyond the feel of Ian’s lips on him.

 

Kurt moans as Ian trails kisses down his throat, lips moving wonderfully against Kurt’s skin.  The bed beneath Kurt shudders as Ian moves to straddle Kurt’s hips, covering the countertenor’s body with his own. The feel of the bigger body above him, all around him, is so exciting, so intoxicating, that Kurt uses his hands to drag Ian’s mouth back to his own, engaging the other boy in a tongue-filled kiss.

 

He is tracing Ian’s teeth, learning the dimensions of his boyfriend’s mouth, when Kurt feels a hand creep under his shirt.  Fingertips graze over his stomach, play around his navel and trace the edge of his pants.

 

Suddenly feeling uncomfortable, Kurt shifts his hips slightly to move away from the fingers.  The action doesn’t work, however, and moments later they are back, questing along his waistband incessantly.

 

Having been distracted by the hand, Kurt hadn’t noticed Ian’s slow progression down his neck and chest to his stomach.  He can see the light hair of Ian’s head as he pushes up the edge of Kurt’s shirt to reveal his stomach and lower chest, dipping down to place a kiss on Kurt’s exposed flesh.

 

When he feels hands start to tug at the button of his jean Kurt freezes momentarily, instantly knowing that he doesn’t want to go further than this, that he isn’t ready for anything yet.  Not wanting to lead Ian on, he gently grabs the other boy’s shoulder to get his attention.

 

“What?” Ian keeps laving at his abdomen, tracing his tongue along the lines of Kurt’s hips where they are visible over his pants.

 

“I don’t – I’m not – stop please?” Kurt’s voice is shaky, uncertain. “I’m not ready.”

 

Ian looks up, a flash of something, maybe annoyance, crossing his face before it is smoothed over.  He nods and pulls the bottom of Kurt’s shirt back into place, moving up to place a peck on Kurt’s lips. “Okay,” he murmurs.  “Want something to drink?”

 

Slightly surprised by the ease at which Ian had taken the protest, Kurt smiles and says, “Yes. Please.”

 

~

 

Kurt opens his eyes to the sight of a blue pillow case, light and worn from many washes, and he immediately knows he’s not in his own bed.  The room around him is dark and warm with an odd smell to the air – familiar but not.  His skin feels sensitive and tingles, the lightest brush of the sheets enough to feel as though he is rubbing against steel wool.

 

Kurt tries to lick his lips, but his mouth is dry and tacky, long hours of unconsciousness and little water leaving him parched.  His lips feel sore, like he’s rubbed them raw somehow, and at the corners of his mouth are little cuts that sting when he irritates them.

 

Confusion alight in his mind, Kurt shifts to try and sit up, only to groan and lay back down as a completely unfamiliar pain takes him.

 

Eyes wide and chest tight, Kurt knows that this can’t be mistaken.  The sting, much like an over-worked muscle, is too specific, too all-telling to be anything else.

 

He can’t remember.

 

Searching his memory desperately, Kurt finds one big blank; a gap of time that he has lost somehow.

 

Rolling to his side and levering his torso from the bed, Kurt’s eyes catch on a piece of paper on the bedside table.  Reaching out he takes it in hand and reads the words inscribed there:

 

 

[](http://s256.photobucket.com/albums/hh168/Emoryems/Glee/?action=view&current=040version2.jpg)

 

 

Lost, not knowing what else to do, Kurt throws the sheets off of his body and crumples the paper before dropping it to the floor.  As the cool air of the room rushes around him, Kurt realizes that he is completely naked.

 

Before fear can overtake him, he looks downward, eyes landing on his lightly-haired thighs. He gasps, taking in the smattering of bruises that concentrate on his inner-upper thighs, dark against his skin. There are similar marks on his hips and smaller, circular marks scattered on his stomach and chest.

 

Bringing a trembling hand up, Kurt covers his mouth as horror mounts within him.  Breath becoming more erratic, more panicked, he feels his stomach start to churn sickeningly.

 

He can’t remember.

 

Standing abruptly, Kurt sobs as the aching pain flares between his legs.  It isn’t overwhelming because it hurts too much; it’s overwhelming because it means that at some point in the time that he can’t remember he lost something he wishes he could have back. 

 

Fumbling for his clothes, Kurt dresses quickly, fingers buttoning his shirt without care.  His socks are nowhere to be found and Kurt can’t stand the thought of being in this room any longer, so he shoves his bare feet into his shoes and doesn’t bother looking.

 

The trip through the halls of the college residence building seems to take an eternity and no time at all, the long rows of doors blurring together as he heads for the front door.  He encounters few people, all of which look at him oddly but do not say anything. 

 

Once he stumbles out the glass doors, he doesn’t know what to do.  The college campus sprawls around him in a smattering of brick buildings and grassy fields and alcoves.  He has no vehicle, his head is throbbing in time to his heartbeat, and his body feels as though he has just gone through the most vigorous of Cheerio practices.

 

Collapsing downward, back braced against the brick building behind him, Kurt pulls his knees in tight to his chest and rests his head on them.

 

It is a cool spring morning, overcast and dreary, as it has been for days.  The last of the winter snow has yet to melt away, and Kurt can feel the damp coldness of it as it seeps through the material of his pants.

 

He feels out of sorts; his head is fuzzy, the loss of time weighing heavily, and he feels hot and cold all at once.  There are little pricks of pain coming from various places on his body, and as he shifts to alleviate the weight to one side of his bottom, Kurt feels something that makes his breathing stop.

 

Something cool and tacky has pooled in his underwear, concentrated where his entrance is, and as he shifted it had made its presence known. 

 

Gagging powerfully, Kurt leans to the side as partially-digested food and liquid expels from his stomach in a rush of sour-tasting vomit.  Tears start to drip from his eyes as the burning liquid, composed mostly of acid, fills his mouth and sinuses with its putrid taste and smell.

 

When the heaves stop and nothing more comes up, Kurt spits to clear his mouth, occasionally gagging merely from the remnant taste. Spitting one last time, Kurt suddenly notices the vibrations of his cell phone emanating from the pocket of his coat.

 

By the time he has pulled the device to answer the call has ended.  The screen is alight with notifications, and is flashing ‘254 Missed Calls’. Kurt knows they will be from his dad and from Carole, trying to find him when he didn’t come home last night. 

 

Kurt’s fingers tremble as he holds his phone, skittering over the small buttons so greatly that he hits the wrong number four times before managing speed dial two.  Breathing in panicked pants, he presses the phone to his ear and listens to the rings.

 

“Kurt!” His dad’s voice is loud and worried, angry and breathless in his ear.

 

“Dad,” Kurt replies, his voice soft and shaky.

 

“We’ve been trying to get a hold of you all night! Why the hell haven’t you been answering your phone?” He sounds so angry, so upset.  Kurt is confused and he feels sick.  He hurts in places he’s trying not to think about. He wants his dad.

 

Letting out a sob, Kurt curls into himself, knees pressed to his chest and lower back scrapping against the brick wall behind him. “Dad,” he says again, broken and hoarse. “Can you come get me? Please?”

 

“Kurt? Where are you?” All of the anger is gone from his dad’s voice, replaced with concern so powerful that Kurt feels wrapped in it.

 

“I – I’m at the college.”

 

“The college?  What the hell are you doing there?”

 

Kurt cringes as a cold breeze cuts across the campus and into his alcove, chilling his skin and ripping through his hair.  “I don’t know, dad. I’m sorry. I don’t remember what –” Kurt sniffles, grasping at the edge of his coat to pull it closer around himself.

 

“I’m on my way, buddy,” his dad says through the phone, and Kurt can hear the sound of the truck’s door slamming shut and the engine rumbling to life.

 

“I need you, dad,” Kurt sobs quietly into the phone, fingers clenching around the hard plastic of it.

 

“I’m coming. Are you hurt?” His dad’s voice is overflowing with concern. “Kurt? Listen to me – I need to know if you’re hurt.”

 

Shaking his head, even though he knows his dad can’t see him, Kurt chokes out, “No. No.”

 

Time seems to slip through Kurt’s fingers as he waits.  The rough building behind him and the cold beneath him grounds him to the here and now, but his mind is so muddled, so confused, that nothing seems real. 

 

He can hear his dad through the speaker of his phone, talking to him in a voice that Kurt hasn’t heard in many years.  A tone that is soft and reassuring – worried.  The last time he can clearly remember his dad sounding like this was only two years after his mom had died. 

 

“Kurt? I’m almost there.  You need to tell me where you are on the campus.” 

 

Kurt sniffs and looks up, looking out toward where he had come from.  “I’m – I’m near the residence building.”

 

“Okay, that’s good. Just a few more minutes, buddy.”

 

“Okay,” Kurt whispers.

 

As he waits, Kurt feels the cold start to take over his body, numbing his backside and limbs.  The occasional burst of wind that catches his skin rips across him like icy blades, scouring any part of him that is uncovered.  The hand that is holding his phone to his ear is so cold that he can’t flex his fingers.

 

The smell of his vomit is almost overpowering, but Kurt can’t bring himself to move away; instead, he turns his head the other way and closes his eyes.  As though he could block the world away.

 

“I’m at the dorms – where are you?”

 

“One building over,” he says, “there’s a little space between it and the next one. There.”

 

His dad doesn’t say anything else, but Kurt hears as he starts moving faster, the wind blowing across the mic on the other side.

 

“I see you.”

 

Kurt looks up and sees his dad running to him, worn shoes sinking into the muddy ground as he does.  He wants to stand up and meet his dad halfway, wants to get into that caring embrace as fast as he can. But he can’t move.  The cold has crept into his limbs and infused him so strongly that he can barely shiver, effectively trapping him where he is. 

 

When he reaches Kurt, Burt drops to his knees beside him, hands immediately reaching out to hold him.

 

Kurt leans into his father’s hands as they cup his face, pulling his chin up so that Burt can look into his eyes.  “What’s going on, Kurt? What happened?” Burt asks.

 

Suddenly Kurt doesn’t want to talk about it, doesn’t want to tell his dad.  What happened – it’s so confusing and horrifying, but Kurt feels ashamed.  Like he has done something wrong.

 

After a moment of his silence, his dad leans further in. “Kurt – c’mon what’s wrong?”

 

A single tear tracks down his cheek as he shakes his head.

 

“You’re scaring me, buddy,” his dad says, voice shaking with emotion.

 

Eyes darting up to meet his dad’s, Kurt lunges forward so that he has both arms wrapped around his father’s shoulders, hands gripping in his coat. 

 

“Whoa, okay,” says his dad, rubbing hands up and down his back. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

 

Holding on to his father, the feel of solid arms holding him also, is enough that Kurt feels grounded for the first time since he woke up.  The world around him fades, his vision, hearing, sense of smell, _everything_ , is focused on the warm familiarity and comfort of his father’s arms.

 

Kurt takes a deep breath in and releases it slowly in an effort to calm his racing heart and upset stomach.  When he feels that he is ready, he pulls back from his dad’s arms and licks his lips.

 

“What’s going on?” his dad asks again, intent and worried.

 

“I need to go to the hospital,” Kurt says quietly.

 

Burt nods, eyebrows pinned together.  “Can you walk?”

 

“Yeah,” Kurt whispers in response.

 

As he stands, the strong hands of his dad supporting him, Kurt can see the worry and tension in the lines of his father’s shoulders, in the creases in his forehead.  Kurt doesn’t know how to tell him, how to say what he thinks – _knows_ – happened to him. It’s embarrassing and he just knows that the words will jam in his throat like they are too big, too heavy, to pass his lips.

 

But this is his dad, and he knows that no matter what he will support him.

 

They walk to the truck in silence, and Kurt can tell his dad is holding back a barrage of questions, their words practically radiating from him without a sound. Kurt tries to ignore it, and he manages to do so as he is helped into the passenger side of the truck.

 

They have been driving for about five minutes when Kurt can’t hold it in any longer.

 

“Dad?”

 

“Yeah buddy?”

 

“I don’t remember what happened last night.”  Kurt hesitates momentarily. “I think Ian put something in my drink.”

 

Burt nods tensely, eyes focused on the road.

 

After a beat where his father doesn’t respond, Kurt continues. “He’s been pushing for – for more.”

 

When the words leave Kurt’s lips his dad’s hands clench tightly on the steering wheel, knuckles going white.  He then lets off the gas and pulls to the side of the road, flicking on the emergency flashers as he parks. 

 

“This Ian – he more than a friend?”

 

The silence in the truck is all-encompassing, and Kurt wishes there was something to fill it.  His answer is little more than a whisper, yet it fills the space like a scream. “Yes.”

 

Kurt sees his dad’s chin drop to his chest as he nods silently, the brim of his hat casting shadows over his face and covering his eyes.  Kurt bites down on his bottom lip, using the slight pain to anchor himself.

 

“And last night – did he –?” His dad stares out the front windshield as he asks.

 

Sniffling lightly, Kurt blinks hard as the prickling of tears dances across his lids.  He opens his mouth to answer, but all that comes out is a quiet whoosh of air. Licking his lips and internally bracing himself, Kurt looks up in time to see his father do the same, causing their eyes to meet. “Yes.” 

 

Kurt watches as red colouring infuses his dad’s face and his nostrils flair, anger and sadness mixing so intrinsically that the edges blur together.  Before anything else can be said, Burt reaches over and wraps Kurt in a hug, their seatbelts straining as they embrace over the consol of the truck.

 

A couple of tears escaping him, Kurt closes his eyes and holds on.  He doesn’t know what else to say, doesn’t know how to articulate how he is feeling. He doesn’t remember what happened, but he can feel the effects on his body, and he’s scared. 

 

~

 

After he is admitted to the hospital through triage, Kurt finds himself in a hospital gown, clothes bagged and gone.  His dad is sitting beside him, fingers interlaced to stop any fidgeting.

 

There has been talk of SAE kits and urine samples and 72 hour windows – all of the things that Kurt wishes he could block from his memory and never have to hear or think about again. He’s already given a urine sample and he knows that the worst has yet to come.

 

They’re waiting for the nurse to arrive – the one who will perform the exam – and Kurt can feel his skin crawling at the thought of what was about to happen.  He’s always been extremely self-conscious about his body and any time now a stranger is going to see and touch parts of him that he is in no way ready to have exposed.

 

As he tries to think of any other topic, of musicals or the Warblers, anything, his mind keeps coming back to his impending ordeal. And how he really does not want to go through it alone.

 

The embarrassment is powerful and makes him want to hide beneath the sheets forever, but his need for his dad is more so.

 

“Dad?”

 

Burt looks at him, and then reaches over and squeezes his shoulder softly. “Do you want me to leave?”

 

Hearing it like that, even the idea of it, sends Kurt’s heart beating against his ribs. “No,” he denies quickly, turning toward his father with pleading eyes. “No – please stay.”

 

The smile his dad gives him is small and sad, but so full of love and compassion that Kurt knows he’s made the right choice.  However uncomfortable and degrading the next portion of his life may be, his dad will be there to support him through it.

 

~

 

They leave the hospital with a bag of antibiotics in hand, and a thick silence born of exhaustion and wretched emotion following in their wake. Kurt’s mind is spinning with information, with the words from the counsellor who had come to see him – she had slipped a card into his hands – but his mind is blank.

 

He thinks, as they drive home, that he might still be in shock.

 

Arriving home as the sun is starting to set, Kurt walks through the front door into an empty house.  The silence of it is a relief, and Kurt wants nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep.

 

His dad leads him into the kitchen, flicking on the light and pulling out a chair as he does so. “Can I get you anything? How about some toast?”

 

Kurt shakes his head as he lowers himself into the chair carefully. “I’m not really hungry.”

 

“Some warm milk?” His dad is looking at him hopefully, desperate to do something, anything for him.

 

Relenting, Kurt says, “That sounds good. Thanks.”

 

As his dad putters between the fridge and the stove to make the beverage, a silence blankets the room.  Kurt takes the opportunity to shift to one side on the hard seat of the chair and lean back.  With just the two of them here and the continuous support from his dad, Kurt thinks that maybe everything will be alright.

 

Two cups in hand, Burt sits across the table from Kurt and slides a mug toward him.  The liquid sloshes gently in its confines, thin rivulets of steam rising from its frothy surface.

 

“Thank you.” Kurt takes his mug in both hands, allowing the heat to warm him. When he hears his dad shifting in his seat he looks up, eyebrows raising in question.

 

“I know that you don’t want anyone to know, but I’ve been thinking – just hear me out – that maybe we should tell Carole and Finn.”

 

Kurt stays silent, just taking the proposal in.  He genuinely does not want people to know about what happened, but he understands why it might be best to tell the other half of their family. 

 

Tilting his chin up incrementally, Kurt nods. “Okay.”

 

His dad looks at him seriously, as though trying to judge what he is thinking.  “Okay?”

 

Kurt nods again and says, “They’re going to know at some point. Especially since we’re pressing charges.  It’s – it’s going to be hard to keep it from them and – and I don’t want to lie.”

 

“Do you want me to do it?”

 

Kurt’s brows pull together as he thinks, mouth pressing into a firm line as he comes to a conclusion. “Would you? Please?”

 

“Of course,” his dad says.  He then picks up his mug and takes a sip of the warm milk.

 

“Dad?” Kurt asks, “Would you mind if, maybe, we waited until tomorrow?”

 

Putting the mug down again, Burt nods in affirmation. “Yeah. That’s okay, Kurt.”

 

~

 

Kurt is just leaning back in his bed, blankets arranged comfortably around his body and arms relaxed over his stomach when it happens. 

 

His phone, which is sitting on his dresser to charge, lights up with multiple messages all at once, first two then five text messages, and then his ringtone set for Blaine starts.  The light emitting from the device illuminates the wall and vanity around it, casting elongated shadows around the room.

 

Knowing that he can’t ignore whatever has happened, and knowing that with that many messages all at once it might be something bad – that someone might be hurt – Kurt sits up, shoving the covers to the side. Just as he throws his legs over the edge of the bed he hears a loud yell come from down the hall.

 

“Holy shit!”

 

Finns voice is high, surprised, angry, confused and a multitude of other things all at once.

 

Taking one glance at his phone, Kurt instead makes his way for the door to his room, intent on finding out what had happened to Finn.  When he grasps the knob and turns it, his door swinging open before him, Kurt can hear his phone ping to announce a new voice message and then start up anew, this time with Mercedes’ ringtone.

 

As he enters the hallway, Kurt sees his dad’s back disappear into Finn’s room as he investigates what is happening. Worry strumming at his nerves, Kurt nearly runs to his stepbrothers’ room, feet padding lightly as he goes.

 

“Jesus fuckin’ – turn it off!”

 

Kurt’s breathing halts in his chest as he comes up behind his dad, eyes locked to the screen of Finn’s computer as though frozen.  An odd buzzing sound starts to fill his ears, the tinny quality of it drowning out everything else. 

 

Paused at 43 seconds in is a low quality movie, the lighting shoddy and dark, leaving just enough to display detail without being fine.  The edges of the image are dampened because of the quality, but the centre of the picture is filled with a picture so clear that it burns into Kurt’s mind.  

 

Two naked bodies, skin a clear contrast from the baby blue sheets of a bed, are entwined.  The person on the bottom is laid out on his stomach, hips propped up with pillows and legs spread so that the other man can fit between his thighs.  The man on top has one hand resting on the back of the other boy, fingers digging into the light flesh; his other hand is hooked over a protruding hipbone of the body beneath his.  Their lower bodies are flush together.

 

As his eyes skim over the image, from the bare feet to the thrown-back head of the man on top, Kurt lets out a strangled noise.  The man who is laying prostrate on the bed has his head turned in the direction of the camera, eyes glazed and mouth parted, hair mussed and splayed across his forehead.

 

It’s him.  He’s under Ian as the other boy presses down on him – in him.

 

Kurt pulls in one quick, sharp intake of breath after another, eyes wide and fixed on the screen.  Starting to shake, horror and hysteria building in him, Kurt takes one step back and then another. 

 

Hearing his movement, his father turns to him quickly, stepping in front of the screen as he takes hold of Kurt’s shoulders and steers him out of the room and into the hall.  Once they are there, Kurt’s breathing increases even more, to the point that he is taking in tiny increments of air in rapid succession.

 

“D-dad,” he stutters out through the breaths. “O-oh my God. I – oh my God.”

 

Mind spinning, the horrible image still blazing behind his eyes, Kurt’s legs go weak, sending him stumbling into the wall of the hallway. As he slides down to the ground he feels hands guiding him gently, easing his fall.

 

Curling his knees into his chest, Kurt feels shock blurring his thoughts. “I don’t understand,” he whispers. “Why would he do that?”

 

Burt kneels down, one hand still holding on to Kurt, and shakes his head. “I don’t know.” Outrage laces his words, and Kurt notices the shaking of his dad’s hand. “But he’s not going to get away with this.”

 

Kurt watches as his dad’s face burns red in fury, his lips pinched and his jaw muscles bulging. A wave of worry overrides his own feelings, and Kurt grabs onto it.

 

“Dad – ” Kurt starts to say, but is cut off.

 

“Dad, you have to calm down.”

 

“No – that bastard – he –” Burt’s words are chopped by emotion and the tendons in his neck are standing out from the strain. “There is no way in hell I’m going to calm down.”

 

“Dad, please,” Kurt almost begs.

 

“Why?” Burt demands, gesturing vaguely toward Finn’s room with one hand. “Aren’t you angry? Jesus Kurt, I want to kill the little fuck.”

 

Kurt wants to yell “of course I am,” wants to show his dad just how angry he is. But that anger is buried so deep under a plethora of other emotions that it is weighed down; it is at the back of a queue filled with shame and sorrow and sickening disgust.

 

Sweat is starting to bead on his dad’s forehead, the little droplets shining in the light of the hall.  This kind of stress, the way it is affecting his father, scares Kurt.  He never wants to have to watch his father lay prone in a hospital bed again.

 

“Dad, please,” he repeats. “You are so much more important to me than this – than him.  I need you.” Lips trembling, Kurt continues, “And you can’t help me if you’re in the hospital.”

 

Burt stares at him, his nostrils flaring with his angered breathing, as the words sink in.  Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he gives a tiny nod. “Yeah – yeah, okay.  But we’re going to the authorities with this. Now.”

 

Kurt nods in agreement even as a throng of doubts cloud the back of his mind. More people are going to see this, are going to see _that_ happening to him.  It shouldn’t, but it makes him feel disgusting, like he’s done something wrong.

 

Both Kurt and Burt look up to Finn’s doorway when they hear the other boy shift awkwardly and make a little noise like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t know if he should.  The look on his face, the confusion and the worry, reminds Kurt that neither Finn nor Carole know about what had happened the night before.

 

“Finn?” Burt stands slowly, keeping close to Kurt as he does so.

 

Finn opens and closes his mouth a few times before he starts to speak, everything in his posture reflecting the horridness of the situation. “The video came in an email.” He shifts to the left, one hand rubbing at the side of his pants. “He sent it to all of us.”

 

“Us?” breathes Kurt, chest clenching as he remembers his phone.  There had been so many texts and calls all at once, just before Finn had yelled, and he knows that at least Blaine and Mercedes had called. They knew. They all knew, all saw, what Ian had done.

 

Nausea builds in his stomach and he feels numb.  He can’t deal with this. 

 

Stumbling to his feet as quickly as he can, Kurt pivots and walks swiftly into his room, shutting and locking the door behind him. With only thoughts of being alone in his mind, he picks up a chair from beside his bed and jams it under the doorknob.  Just in case.

 

“Kurt? Kurt, what are you doing?”

 

Kurt backs away from the door as his dad twists at the doorknob and then knocks loudly.  “Go away,” he says, not quite yelling.

 

Hearing the sound of another call coming through his cell phone, Kurt whirls around and grabs the small device, turning it off and hurling it in the direction of his bed where it lands between his pillows with a soft ‘whump’.

 

“Let me in.” The door shakes from the force of the pounding. “Kurt? C’mon buddy, unlock the door.”

 

“Just leave me alone! I need –I need to be alone right now,” he trails off, his voice barely a whisper as he finishes. 

 

A sigh can be heard from the other side of the door, and then Kurt hears a soft ‘thump’ as though someone has leaned into the door. “Okay. But Kurt – you come get me if you need me.”

 

Kurt doesn’t reply, turning away from the door to sit on the edge of his bed facing out the window.  He’s been sitting there for a moment when he hears shifting on the other side of the door, and he turns his head in that direction, waiting.

 

“Please.” The word is strained. “Kurt – promise me you’ll come to me if you need anything.”

 

Licking his lips and trying to keep his face composed even though he is alone, Kurt answers, “Yeah, dad. I promise.”

 

He knows he won’t, though.  His dad has been so supportive, so understanding, and Kurt couldn’t wish for a better father to have.  But he doesn’t want to talk about it with him, doesn’t want to be exposed in that way. 

 

Just knowing that it happened, having it in his mind as an abstract thought without any concrete reality beyond the marks on his body, was enough to deal with.  But seeing it, seeing himself being violated like that, it makes it even _more_ real somehow. 

 

He’s already had to deal with waking up in his boyfriend’s dorm room with no memory of the night before, his body covered in marks he can’t remember gaining and the horrifying feel of wetness between his legs.  The ache of stretched muscle twinging with every movement.

 

Then there had been the exam in the hospital, where the nurse had combed, swabbed and probed him.  All with an officer who he doesn’t think he’ll ever see again watching. 

 

Clenching his fists into tight balls, Kurt leans forward until he is bent over his knees, breath coming in harshly.

 

And then there are the blood and urine tests.

 

He’s heard all about STIs in school, read the stories in the newspaper.  And now he has to face the reality that he might have contracted something, been given an infection by the asshole who had – had _raped him_.

 

He’s been avoiding the thought, but he’s scared – afraid that in three months when he goes in for _that_ test, the one that no person should ever have to worry over, he’ll test positive. 

 

He barely knows Ian.  He doesn’t know if the man has a history of unsafe sex, if he’s been exposed to infection.  They didn’t get far enough into their relationship – if that’s what it was – to have had to ask those kinds of questions. 

 

He thought that Ian had been so wonderful, a great first boyfriend to have.  But now he can’t stop wondering how much of that was a lie, how much of a fool he had been to believe what they had was real.

 

He should have seen the signs, known better then to go over to Ian’s dorm. Known not to take that drink. 

 

If he had, then maybe he wouldn’t be sitting here thinking about the possibility of having HIV.

 

He doesn’t know how long he has been sitting, mind consumed by thoughts, but when he looks up his eyes wander in the direction he threw his phone.  He doesn’t want to deal with that right now – it’s too real, too close and personal. Instead his eyes find his computer, sitting with the screen blank.  He has to check at some point. Making his decision, Kurt walks over to the machine, takes a seat and turns on the screen. 

 

There are over 200 messages in his inbox.  Kurt’s eyes widen as he takes in the names of the senders, some from McKinley, some from Dalton, but almost every person he knows, and some he doesn’t, have sent a message.

 

As he’s skimming the list, one in particular catches his eye – it’s from Ian. 

 

Kurt’s heart starts beating hard in his chest as he brings the cursor to rest over it, and he wonders if maybe he should leave it alone and let the police handle it.  But he realizes, as he clicks on the email, he has to know what Ian has sent. 

 

There is a simple message and a file attachment.

 

 

 _You’re fuckin’ fine, Kurt.  Just look at you. I know how self-conscious you are, how you think you aren’t sexy, but damn you are amazing.  Just watch – you’ll see._

  


_Love,_

  


_Ian_

  


_P.S. I had a great time last night._

 

 

The words make him feel dirty, used.  They also ignite anger in him, a slow smouldering that makes him want to put his fist into the nearest surface, makes him want to kick and scream. 

 

Clicking back out of the email and to his Inbox, Kurt evens his breathing as best he can, skimming the list of names again.  From what he can see almost every person in McKinley and Dalton were sent a copy – he tries not to think of what some of them will do with it. 

 

But some names are missing; a large portion of the Warblers haven’t sent a message, and maybe they are too nice to, but Kurt is guessing that they haven’t checked their emails yet.

 

Idea forming in his mind, Kurt stands up fast and crosses the room to where his phone is laying. He doesn’t even look at the number of missed calls and text messages when he turns it back on, just dials Blaine’s number and waits for him to pick up.

 

“Kurt! What’s going on?”

 

No ‘hello’, no attempt to beat around the proverbial bush, just straight to the point.  Kurt kind of wishes that Blaine had at least tried.

 

“I need your help,” he says, propping his cell phone between his shoulder and ear as he sits back down at his computer.

 

“Do you know what –”

 

“Yes,” Kurt says tensely. “I know.”

 

“Are you okay?” Blaine’s voice has gone soft, his inflection losing its previous intensity.

 

Kurt shakes his head minutely as he answers. “No. But I need you to do something for me.”

 

“What?” Blaine asks, and Kurt can hear some other voices in the background.

 

“Are you in the common room?”

 

“Yeah,” Blaine says, voice drawn out. “Kurt, what is this all about? I mean we get this email and – ”

 

“Just – just do this for me first, okay? And then – and then I’ll tell you what you want to know. Okay?”

 

“Yeah, sure. What ever you need.”

 

Kurt inhales a deep breath, and says, “I need you to do some damage control.  Just – can you try and stop people from watching it?”

 

“Oh, Kurt,” Blaine sighs into the phone, his tone sending a wash of ice over Kurt. “I’m sorry, but there aren’t many people who haven’t.  Maybe a few of the guys who don’t check their emails often, or who have already gone to bed, but…”

 

As Blaine’s voice trails away, Kurt bites his lip and squeezes his eyes shut.  Any hope that he had built up falls away, and it leaves him bare.

 

“I understand,” he says. “Can you try, though? Please?”

 

“Of course. I’ll get David and Wes to send out some mass texts while I go around to those who board.”

 

Kurt sniffs lightly, saying, “Thank you.”

 

“Kurt,” Blaine begins, hesitation clear, “do you want me to come over? I mean – I don’t know what this is all about, but I don’t want you to be alone.  You’re my best friend and I hate it when you’re hurting.”

 

Smiling slightly, Kurt closes his eyes and dips his head forward. “Thank you, but – maybe tomorrow?”

 

Disappointment is almost a tangible entity through the silence on the other side of the line, and it both reminds Kurt of how much he cares for Blaine, and how much Blaine cares for him. “Blaine?” he asks after a moment.

 

“Yeah. Sure, that’s fine.”

 

“Thanks Blaine.”

 

“It’s no problem.” Before Kurt has a chance to say goodbye, Blaine quickly interjects, “Kurt?”

 

Opening his eyes and switching his phone to the other ear, Kurt focuses his eyes on his Dalton tie, which is coiled on his dresser. “Yeah?”

 

Blaine clears his throat. “Call me if you need to talk?”

 

Huffing out a little breath, Kurt allows the smile on his lips to widen slightly. “I will.  Thank you, Blaine.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

As he hangs up, Kurt realizes that Blaine never pushed to know what had happened, and it makes him even more grateful for ever having met the other boy.

 

~

 

About half an hour after he gets off the phone with Blaine, Kurt feels the anger and irritation flair in him again, filling him with a kind of nervous, shaky energy.  When pacing the short length of his room doesn’t do anything to help, Kurt pulls the chair out from under his doorknob and opens his door.

 

Walking into the kitchen slowly, Kurt looks around to see if anyone is home.  He can’t decide if it is relief or disappointment that washes over him when he sees Finn sitting at the kitchen table, and he doesn’t have a chance to retreat before Finn spots him.

 

“Hi,” says the taller boy. “Burt went to pick my mom up from her shift at the hospital. They should be back in about half an hour.”

 

Kurt nods at Finn and walks to the fridge, opening the door and looking inside without actually seeing.  He doesn’t really want anything, isn’t hungry at all, but he needs something to do.  The handle is cold in his palm, and he feels irrational irritation overcome him suddenly, its presence a frustration in itself. Slamming the door closed, Kurt spins around and starts to pace back toward his room, but then sharply turns back around and grasps the edge of the kitchen counter in his hands, hunching down over the expanse of it.

 

Kurt usually tries to dampen his anger, setting it low and smouldering to direct it toward something productive. But this feeling that is ravishing through him is like a wildfire in the heat of summer, so intense that it makes his limbs tremble. 

 

“Hey man, you okay?”

 

Kurt spins around at the sound of Finn’s voice and leans his hip against the counter.  Finn is looking at him with wide eyes, head tilted up toward Kurt.

 

The power of Kurt’s rage shows through in the broken quality of his reply. “No.” Short, terse, sharp.

 

Finn shifts uncomfortably as he watches Kurt. “Is there anything I can do?”

 

“No,” he says again. “I’m pissed, Finn. So angry that I would like nothing more than to scream right now.”

 

“Oh,” says Finn, looking away.  The bigger boy is silent for a couple of seconds before he turns back toward Kurt. “Why don’t you?”

 

Rolling his eyes in irritation, Kurt asks, “Why don’t I what?”

 

Finn shrugs and says with a hesitant smile, “Scream.”

 

Kurt stares at his stepbrother like he’s just proposed something completely insane.

 

“Go on,” says Finn encouragingly. “No one else is home – and, I mean, I can put my head phones in or something. I bet it’ll make you feel way better.”

 

Kurt hesitates, but the open and honest way that Finn is trying to help pushes his doubts away. “Okay.”

 

Finn smiles at him largely, his eyes brightening from just knowing that he’s done something to help. “Great.  I’ll just go – I’ll just be in the living room.” And then he turns and leaves, glancing back twice as though to make sure Kurt is staying behind.

 

Alone in the kitchen with fury rising and uncoiling in his gut, Kurt is uncertain.  It feels stupid to just scream at nothing, almost laughable, but his chest is tight and something powerful is caught in his throat.

 

Pacing a few steps toward where the fridge is, Kurt breathes in slowly, filling his lungs so completely that they burn. And screams.

 

The air is ripping through his vocal cords fast and hard, the tension of his throat, the anger, turning the sound high and rough.  And God it feels good, like the noise, the way his chest is deflating steadily and his stomach is clenching from the effort, is all working to throw the anger out of him. 

 

When all of his breath has gone he gasps in another and screams again.  The way it tears at his throat, causes his face to flush red, is invigorating.

 

As he is finished releasing his frustration one last time, Kurt gasps in a breath and brings a hand up to touch his cheek.  Tears have tracked their way down his face and neck, their paths running wild and slick over him. 

 

Taking in one shuddering breath after another, Kurt shrugs his shoulders to relax the tension there, and straightens his back.  As good as it felt to let that out, Kurt knows that it was only a temporary fix, and that soon he’ll have to deal with his emotions all over again.

 

But it worked for now, and considering the circumstances, Kurt will take anything over nothing.

 

~

 

The late evening air is brisk, the wind blowing gently to ruffle through Kurt’s hair, lifting his fringe and then dropping it.  He feels numb and sensitive all at once, like he’s been blasted by so much stimulation, so much emotion, that his nerves are raw.

 

His father is a solid presence at his side as they walk toward the truck, the lights of the police station casting shadows before them in elongated and colourless distortions of reality.  The concrete beneath his feet is cracked, small patches of dead foliage reaching upward from the crevasses with spindly projections.

 

The truck is just a few feet away when Burt reaches over and tightens a hand around Kurt’s upper arm, squeezing lightly as though to reassure both of them. Kurt leans into the gesture momentarily, connected and safe, and then nods gratefully at his dad and pulls away to open the door of the passenger side.

 

When both of their doors have slammed shut, the silence of the truck envelopes them and Kurt can’t help but think of it as a metal tomb.  The exhaustion and numbness that has accompanied the past two days has taken its toll, leaving his limbs heavy and mind fuzzy.

 

“Five years.”

 

Kurt’s eyes shift to the left to look at his father, who is leaning back in his seat, keys dangling from one clenched fist.  He looks just as exhausted as Kurt feels, but there is an undertone of thrumming anger, like something that is alive and writhing beneath his skin. 

 

“What?” Kurt asks, turning his head toward his dad. “Five years?”

 

Burt’s lips pull down in a scowl. “They’ll probably only give that bastard five years for this.”

 

Kurt’s chest is suddenly tight and he wants nothing more than to close his eyes and let all of his thoughts disappear. “Oh,” he says softly.

 

They don’t say anything else as Burt starts the truck and drives home.  Kurt stares out the window the whole time, eyes catching on objects in the landscape and then flicking to the next as they travel by.  Much of Lima is cloaked in darkness, the occasional streetlamp doing little to illuminate the crevasses between buildings, and everything is silent and still. It is almost eerie.

 

Just as they are pulling up to the house, a figure walks up the stairs of their front porch and pulls out a cell phone, the screen a bright rectangle of white light among the dark.  Kurt and his dad exchange looks as they park and shut off the engine, not able to recognize who is at their house after midnight.

 

Burt motions for Kurt to stay in the truck, and Kurt opens his mouth to protest when his cell buzzes in his pocket.  There is a new text glaring up at him.

 

 _Will you let me in? --- Rachel_

 

The figure on the porch has noticed their arrival and starts down the path toward them, prompting Kurt to opens his door and slide out of the seat, ignoring his father’s protest of “wait, Kurt –”.

 

Rachel, brown hair and pink pyjamas highlighted by the streetlight above, doesn’t even break stride as she wraps her arms around Kurt in a hug.  At first Kurt doesn’t know what to do – he’s almost in shock and Rachel’s arms are locked tight on him – and he looks over the brunet’s head to his father.  Burt has one brow raised and shrugs at him. 

 

Using one hand to pat Rachel’s back gently, if not awkwardly, Kurt watches his dad move toward the house where he unlocks the front door and stands waiting for them.

 

Rachel pulls back with a sniff and wipes at her eyes while Kurt steps back so that there is some space between them. “What are you doing here, Rachel? Are you okay?”

 

“Oh my God, Kurt,” she says, eyes filling with tears again. “I’m fine – I saw that – that tape, and –”

 

Kurt nods once, briskly, and says, “Let’s talk inside.” He doesn’t want to talk, not to anyone right now, but he won’t leave Rachel outside alone. “How did you get here?” he asks idly, like it’s just another day.

 

“My dads dropped me off – they just knew how much I needed to be here. Oh no – they didn’t see,” she says, eyes wide and sincere as Kurt’s face morphs into something like horror. “I told them something was wrong, but I wouldn’t show them – that.”

 

Kurt pinches his lips together as they walk into his house, not quite willing to thank Rachel from saving him that embarrassment. It is bad enough that every person in McKinley and Dalton received that e-mail – he can’t imagine parents seeing it, too. But now that he thinks of it, it’s probably inevitable, really.

 

“Where were you?” Rachel asks.

 

Kurt focuses intently on the buttons of his coat as he says, “The police station.”

 

When both Kurt and Rachel have removed their coats and shoes, Kurt notices his dad hovering in the entryway to the kitchen, watching them from the corner of his eye. Kurt knows his dad is waiting to see if he needs him to drive Rachel home if that’s what Kurt wants, but as he looks down at the short brunette, Kurt remembers a time when Mercedes would have fought tooth and nail to be with him when he needed a friend. He can remember how her hugs would balm his pain, soothe his mind.

 

She isn’t here.

 

When Rachel looks up at him, her brown eyes bloodshot and lashes clumped with tears, he feels a jolt of loss and gain in his chest.  He might have lost the intense bond he had with Mercedes – to time, to age, he doesn’t know – but he has gained a friend in Rachel. However unexpected it may be.

 

Rachel’s lips tremble over her words as she tries to reign in her emotions and stay calm. “I didn’t think you would want the whole glee club here. They wanted to come, but…” she trails off, brows tugging upward in the middle.

 

Kurt nods at the silent meaning.  She’s right; if he had to face everyone right now it would be too much.  He wishes that no one knew, that it had never happened at all, but now it has been spread to almost everyone that he knows.

 

So instead of sending Rachel on her way, Kurt gives his dad what he hopes is a reassuring smile and leads Rachel upstairs so they can talk in private.  She walks in to his room and stands by his bed, arms wrapped around herself and eyes wide as Kurt all but closes the door behind them.

 

The air is thick with discomfiture, neither of them knowing where to start nor if they even should.  Kurt, a fist filled with worry and embarrassment jammed somewhere in his throat, eventually breaks the silence, his voice quiet but steady. 

 

“It wasn’t –” he says, then clears his throat. “I didn’t want it.”

 

Rachel’s eyes widen and her face takes on an expression of reassurance. “I know – we know,” she corrects. “We know.”

 

Nodding awkwardly, but glad that he doesn’t have to say more, Kurt crosses his arms over his chest.  He wonders how they know, what they have seen that would tell them that, and then feels his face start to flush.  His friends, people who he respects and loves like family, have seen him in a way that he never wanted them to.

 

“Do you – do you want to talk about it?” Rachel’s voice is hopeful, like if he says ‘yes’ it will mean the world to her.  It makes Kurt want to snap something horridly sarcastic about her pyjamas and hug her at the same time.

 

“Not really,” he replies, fixing his attention on pulling a piece of lint from his sleeve.

 

Rachel, after a few breaths of hesitation in which Kurt is mentally preparing for a barrage, says, “Okay.”

 

Surprise lighting up his face, Kurt can’t help but raise his brows. “Okay?”

 

Rachel nods at him and offers a little smile. “Yeah.” She then gets a determined look to her, the kind of focus she usually holds in glee, and walks over to his vanity and picks up his little manicure kit. “So, Kurt, do you think orange would be a good colour with my new sundress?”

 

Horror at even the thought takes over Kurt’s mind -- not completely, but enough to put his mind on something else for a little while -- and he shakes his head emphatically. “No. Just no.”

 

He knows what she’s doing, how she’s using her inability to coordinate an outfit as a way to distract him, and the wave of gratitude that washes over him is immense.  She isn’t pushing to know everything, isn’t making him go over everything in his head again and again like he thought she would have, and he wonders when she became so good at reading what he needs.

 

Rachel ends up staying the rest of the night, allowing Kurt to give her a (colour-coordinated) manicure and various skin-care tips.  The routine of it is calming and familiar, letting Kurt focus on something that doesn’t remind him of Ian for a couple of hours.

 

They both know what this is, that the way Kurt is fluttering around grabbing different products and magazines, it’s all part of an elaborate distraction technique. That it is temporary.  Sometimes, when there is a lull in their conversation and they fall into stillness, they will share a knowing look, and then go on to something new.

 

They go to bed late, just as the sun starts to rise in the eastern sky.

 

~

 

 

Peaceful and not wanting to get out of bed, Kurt pushes his head into his pillow, revelling in the softness, and closes his eyes. He doesn’t go back to sleep, instead choosing to enjoy the simple relaxation afforded by lying in his bed. If the feeling of Rachel’s arm grounds him better than anything he’s experienced since that morning, he doesn’t worry about it.

 

~

 

Kurt and Rachel are sitting in silence, the duvet pulled up to cover their legs as they watch the Broadway version of Rent, when Burt knocks on the door lightly and pushes it open.  The scent of breakfast cooking downstairs wafts in, reminding Kurt that he is going to have to climb out of bed at some point soon.

 

“You have another visitor, Kurt. Do you want me to send him up?”

 

His dad has an apron on, the front spattered with what Kurt knows to be bacon grease – and now he definitely knows he should be the one cooking, because no way is his dad getting any of that – and a kitchen towel in the other hand.  He looks so domestic, so familiar, that Kurt’s heart warms at the sight. 

 

Unsure and surprised, Kurt runs a hand over his hair to smooth any errant strands. “Who is it?”

 

“That friend of yours from Dalton – the short one.”

 

Rachel takes in a breath of air like she’s about to speak, but stays silent.  She then pushes the duvet off of her legs and stands, pulling her hair back into a quick pony-tail as she moves toward the door. “I really should be going,” she says.

 

Burt waves the spatula in his hand at her as he says, “Are you sure? I have the makings for a fruit salad if you want to stay for breakfast.”

 

Rachel smiles politely at his dad and waves at Kurt. “I’m sure – thank you anyway, Mr. Hummel.  My dads will start to worry, and I really must go.  See you later, Kurt.”

 

She pauses and looks at Kurt, her façade of busy movement falling away as she moves in to envelope Kurt in a hug. “Take care of yourself,” she whispers in his ear.

 

Returning the hug gratefully, Kurt nods into her shoulder. “I will. Thank you.”

 

She pulls away, and with one last look, is gone.

 

“Breakfast will be done soon,” his dad says from where he is standing.  He looks at Kurt for a minute, and then offers, “I can send him away if you want.”

 

With only a brief consideration, Kurt shakes his head negatively. “No. It’s okay.” His eyes fall to his lap. “Can you tell him that I’ll be down shortly?” He needs to get dressed and make sure his hair is presentable.

 

The weight of his dad’s assessing gaze is tremendous, and Kurt sags in relief when the man simply nods and walks away.

 

Kurt dresses quickly and stops in front of his mirror.  There are dark circles around his eyes, fitting into the contours of his orbital bones and leaving him looking sickly and tired.  For the first time since he was fourteen he doesn’t have the irrepressible urge to cover them with concealer.

 

He walks down the stairs to his kitchen knowing that he looks like crap, that Blaine will see him looking like that, but he couldn’t cares less about that than he does about taking the time to look good.

 

He walks into the kitchen with lightly-padding footsteps and sees Blaine standing, looking incredibly uncomfortable, by the table.  His dad has his back to them, arm shaking as he works with something over the stove.

 

Blaine’s steps are unsure, hesitant and slow as he moves toward Kurt.  “Hey,” he says softly. “I’m sorry I didn’t call – and I know I said I’d wait, but I was so worried, and I couldn’t sleep. I had to see you.”

 

Kurt isn’t ready for this conversation; he just wants everything to go back to how it was before Ian.  But in his mind, in the part of it that is logical, he knows that won’t happen, that he is going to have to face this.

 

He wishes he had more time.

 

“It’s fine,” he says, offering a little smile to Blaine, who takes it with a relived nod.

 

“Why don’t you boys go wait for breakfast in the living room? It will be another ten minutes before it’s ready.”

 

A sweep of appreciation for his father goes through Kurt as he gestures at Blaine to follow him. 

 

Blaine sits on the couch, keeping his body language relaxed and easy as though trying to reassure Kurt wordlessly. Kurt remains standing, a jittery type of energy having suddenly overcome him.

 

Kurt watches as Blaine shifts a little and licks his lips. “You don’t have to talk about it,” the other teen says sincerely. “I won’t push anything here – I just couldn’t stay away, knowing that you weren’t okay. We could watch a movie or something.”

 

Taking in a deep breath and slowly letting it out through trembling lips, Kurt shakes his head. “No. I want to tell you. I don’t want to keep this inside.”

 

“Okay.” Blaine tilts his head and looks pointedly at the seat next to him. “Do you want to sit down?”

 

“Not really,” Kurt replies.  He absently wonders if Blaine would have been a guidance councillor in a past life. “I just – I just want to get it out there.”

 

“I won’t judge you, Kurt, whatever it is.”

 

“Why is this so hard to say?” Kurt paces in front of Blaine, arms wrapped around his waist as though to comfort himself.  “It’s not like I even remember it.”

 

Blaine is a silent entity as he watches Kurt pace, and Kurt doesn’t know whether to be comforted by his non-action or worried – does he already know, has he already guessed what happened? Is he waiting for Kurt to confirm it?

 

“He was really good to me, you know?”

 

Blaine’s gaze is compassionate and open as Kurt struggles to find the words to describe what happened.  Kurt wants to just say it, lay it out bare between them, but his throat closes as though the word ‘raped’ is barred from use.

 

“I thought that – that maybe we had a chance to be happy.  To have something.  And – and then.” Tears are starting to choke Kurt’s throat, tightening it until his voice is high and strained. “That last night I went to his place.  I figured we’d just watch a movie.”

 

Kurt brings one hand up to cover his mouth as his lips pull into a grimace and tears start to flow down his cheeks. “We were, you know, fooling around. And he wanted to go further, but I stopped him. And he stopped.” Kurt’s voice gives out for a moment and he swallows hard and clears his throat. “But then he brought me a drink and we started to watch a movie.”

 

Blaine’s eyes are starting to turn red, tears building to catch in his dark lashes.

 

“He – there was something in it. I don’t remember what happened, and when I woke up – when I woke up I could feel it. What he did.”

 

Blaine’s Adam’s apple bobs as his throat works silently, the knowledge of what he had seen settling into his mind like some rotten, festering wound. He has no words to offer.

 

“I feel so stupid.” Kurt’s voice dies out on the last word.

 

Blaine is up and moving, coming in close to Kurt. “Hey – no. Why would you feel like that?”

 

Kurt sniffles and allows a bitter smile to take his lips. “Because I should have seen it coming. He’s been pushing, wanting more, but – but I didn’t think –”

 

“I know,” says Blaine, rubbing a hand over Kurt’s back. “But you couldn’t have known, and you shouldn’t have had to suspect.”

 

“I understand that, I do, but – it’s so stupid.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“It feels like I’m using it as an excuse – like I’m taking something that happened to someone else and using it for, I don’t know, sympathy or something. Like what happened shouldn’t be the big deal I’m making it out to be.”

 

A clang sounds from somewhere in the kitchen, causing both of the boys to jump, and Kurt wipes at his eyes and hangs his head. He can’t help but feel that way, and saying it even sounds ridiculous to him. 

 

When Blaine leans forward and pulls him into a tight hug Kurt holds the dark-haired boy close, allowing himself a moment to soak in the feelings of friendship. His crush is still there, still simmering beneath the surface, but now he can’t see ever wanting to date anyone ever again.

 

His dad has heard every word, Kurt knows he has been listening from the kitchen, and it is a relief. He wants his dad to know all of this, all of the things that he just told Blaine, wants him to understand how Kurt is feeling. 

 

“Oh, Kurt,” Blaine sighs into his shoulder. “I don’t think that, and no one who has an ounce of humanity and compassion in them won’t either. This isn’t your fault, and how you feel? That’s because of Ian, not you.”

 

Kurt nods and uses his sleeve to wipe the majority of the tears from his face. “Thanks,” he whispers huskily.

 

~

 

Kurt is sitting in his room and staring blankly at a page of his chemistry textbook when his phone announces a new message.  Grabbing it, almost happy to have a distraction, Kurt raises both his brows at the message.

 

 _can u come pick me up? – Finn_

 

Trying to remember where Finn was supposed to be today, Kurt composes a reply.

 

 _Where are you? And why can’t you walk? --- Kurt_

 

It’s a Saturday, and Kurt knows that Finn is supposed to be at Artie’s for a videogame marathon thing, and that if he is actually there, he would be able to walk home easily.

 

 _Im at the mall. evry1 else left --- Finn_

 

Sighing in frustration, Kurt closes his barely-read chemistry textbook and throws it to the side – he’s never going to catch up before he starts back at school, anyway.  He needs to check his hair and straighten his clothes, but he doesn’t have anything pressing that can be used as an excuse.

 

 _Fine. I’ll be there soon. Meet me in front of Macy’s. --- Kurt_

 

Kurt has just pulled up the zip on the inside of his left boot and stood, hand reaching for the door, when it hits him.  He doesn’t want to leave.  He wants to keep the door closed and locked, and crawl right back in bed where he feels comfortable.

 

He can’t forget what happened, but because he can’t actually remember it, it takes a moment to discover why he wants to hide inside.

 

Before he can lose his nerve he opens the door and slips outside, shutting and locking the door quickly.  He looks out across the street, taking in the forms of people walking down the sidewalk and the neighbour three houses down carrying groceries into her house. 

 

Now that he has left the protection and privacy of his house, he feels exposed. It is like every person he sees is staring at him, knows what happened to him.  Is judging him.

 

Taking a deep breath, Kurt closes his eyes and tries to think of something else.  He recites the lyrics of several Beatle’s songs and is starting in on the ‘Wicked’ soundtrack before he feels confident that he won’t go running back inside.

 

He can do this. He won’t let one event (very, very horrifying and disturbing and – he has to stop thinking about it) stop him from living his life.

 

By the time he has reached the mall he is constantly trying to numb his mind, to sever any thought leading to being in front of so many people.  Because there will be lots of people at the mall, and it is more than possible that some of them have seen the video – he won’t lie to himself about it.

 

He sits in the Navigator for a moment, hands clenched into fists, and tries to steel his resolve; he can do this. All he has to do it walk through the mall – go passed the food court to where Macy’s is. It’s not even that far.

 

With a deep breath in, so deep that it burns, Kurt pulls the key from the ignition and opens the door, letting the cool air of outside surround him.  His thin jacket does little to cut the cold and Kurt crosses his arms over his chest as he walks, feeling the air chap his face and lips as he makes his way to the mall entrance.

 

When he’s in the doors, the heated air engulfing him enough that he lets his arms fall back to his sides, Kurt looks around. There are quite a few shoppers milling about, but they pay him no mind as he walks. He is at once grateful and wary.

 

Kurt is at the beginning of the food court when a large figure enters his peripheral vision, red McKinley coat a bright warning flag. Any hope of it being Finn is squashed as he turns his head and meets the eyes of one of his biggest bullies.

 

“Hey whore,” Azimio says, leering at him lewdly. “You put out like that for everyone?”

 

Kurt averts his eyes and keeps walking, trying to ignore the large football player.  He doesn’t get far before he notices the other boy keeping pace with him.

 

“Oh c’mon ladyboy! It looked like you were having fun – don’t tell me you’re shy about it.” Azimio is smiling, but his eyes are cold and serious.

 

A blush makes its way to Kurt’s cheeks, anger and embarrassment roiling together. “Back off, Azimio.”

 

As he tries to manoeuvre around the boy to get away, Azimio grabs him by the shoulder and shoves him against the wall next to the Starbucks, knocking the breath from his chest. “Where you going?”

 

“Don’t touch me,” Kurt demands loudly as he jerks away from Azimio’s hands, in the process attracting the attention of several other shoppers and the baristas working in Starbucks.  Their eyes, the knowledge of their gazes, fuels the colour of Kurt’s cheeks and he averts his eyes, focusing on the ground.

 

“Okay, okay,” says Azimio, hands raised and palms open. “Why you being so frigid, Hummel?”

 

“Leave me alone,” Kurt says, and he cringes internally at how his voice quivers just a little at the end. 

 

Azimio steps closer, but keeps enough distance that Kurt can still slip around him if he tries, and says, “Awe, don’t be like that.”

 

Kurt freezes in place as another voice says the same words in his head, and Kurt has a flash of something, like remembering an old memory buried deeply in time, the edges frayed and worn, but not completely gone.  A shock of cold lumps in his stomach as he is left with an image, of blue sheets and petting hands, and the feel of a voice speaking in his ear coercively.

 

Azimio has said something else, but by the time Kurt has focused back on the other boy he is staring at Kurt like he’s sprouted horns and a tail.  But then his expression fades back into a leer and he says tauntingly, “Tell me how you do it.”

 

Kurt is still wrapped in his own mind, the image and memory that had flashed behind his eyes a clear recognition.  He wants to grab Finn and go home, get out of this mall, away from Azimio, as fast as he can.  “Do what?” he asks, exasperation colouring his words.

 

“Lure these guys into your bed, convince them to fuck you.  I mean, c’mon Hummel, that looked like one sweet hook-up.  You sure enjoyed it.”

 

Kurt feels nausea rise at the words, his stomach churning in distaste and disgust. Anger accompanies it, flowing into his veins like a shot of adrenalin – it colours his skin pink and sends his limbs shaking from reaction.

 

Azimio leans in close, like they’re sharing some deep secret. “Did you pay him?” he asks.

 

“He raped me!” Kurt yells, voice high and loud, and he can literally hear his heartbeat in his ears. “You watched me being raped, you putrid worm of a human.” Kurt’s hands are shaking so hard that he clenches them at his sides to hide the movement. “Are you happy now? The little fag got what was coming to him.”

 

Azimio’s eyes are wide and his mouth is gaping open as he stares at Kurt. 

 

Kurt can’t feel his body; everything has gone numb, leaving him cold and empty as he stares into Azimio’s eyes. “He drugged me and raped me and put it on tape for everyone to see.”

 

As the words rip from him, quiet and shaking, Kurt turns and walks away with his back held straight, eyes focused ahead so he doesn’t have to see any of the people staring. 

 

Azimio doesn’t try to follow him.

 

Kurt walks until he sees Finn, sitting on a bench outside of Macy’s and sipping at a can of Coke.  Taking a moment to wipe at his eyes before he approaches, Kurt stops in front of Finn and waits for his step-brother to look up and see him.

 

“Hey dude,” says Finn in greeting, smiling. “Thanks for – what’s wrong?”

 

Kurt closes his eyes and sighs, wishing he’d stopped at the bathroom to clean up first. “Nothing. I’m fine.  Let’s just go home.”

 

Finn looks at him with questioning eyes and stands. “Are you sure? You look like you’ve been crying.”

 

Annoyance blossoming in his chest, Kurt turns and starts to walk back to where he had parked the car, not bothering to see it Finn is following. “I got something in my eye. It’s nothing.”

 

“But – ”

 

“Drop it, Finn,” Kurt cuts in.  “Let’s just get home – I need to start dinner. I know my dad hasn’t been following his diet as strictly as he should, and I will not waste an opportunity to make sure he eats heart-healthy.”

 

Kurt can almost feel the burn of Finn’s gaze on his back as they walk, but he ignores it in favour of making a beeline for the Navigator.

 

By the time Kurt gets home he has calmed down, leaving him feeling embarrassed and horrified by what he had said. And to Azimio of all people. 

 

Finn is still sending him concerned looks, like he wants to ask what happened, but doesn’t want to annoy Kurt in the process.  That Kurt can practically hear the thoughts projecting from him is just as bad as if Finn were to be letting out a constant litany of questions.

 

~

 

It has been an hour since dinner and Kurt is once again sitting in his room. His dad had stared at him throughout the meal, trying his best to hide it but not doing a very good job, and his attention had only reminded Kurt of everything. He didn’t end up eat much before retreating.

 

There is a quiet knock on the door and the sound of creaking floorboards, and all Kurt wants to do is pretend he is asleep and ignore whoever is at his door. He’s tired of their concern, however much he appreciates it, and would like nothing more than to forget that Ian even exists.

 

Another knock sounds, this time accompanied by Finn’s voice. “Kurt? You awake?”

 

Licking his lips and glancing at the door, Kurt sighs, knowing he should answer. “Come in.”

 

Finn opens the door and stands awkwardly at the threshold, hands fidgeting and eyes glancing around as though he doesn’t want to stare at Kurt.

 

“So, um. I wanted to talk to you about something.” Finn moves more fully into the room and closes the door behind him, the ominous action sending curiosity and worry to war within Kurt’s chest.

 

Kurt motions to the chair across from his bed and sits up straight, face taking on a mask of calm indifference. “And what would that be?”

 

As he sits, Finn clears his throat and rubs his hands over his jeans. “I heard you.”

 

Kurt feels something like horror grip his heart, crushing his chest under a tremendous weight. “You heard me –?”

 

“At the mall. I heard what you said to Azimio. I was on my way to help you,” he says in a rush, explaining himself. “But by the time I got near you it was over. So I went back to the bench and waited.”

 

Kurt nods, swallowing hard. The embarrassment is overwhelming, making him want to curl up and hide his face away forever. He almost wishes on that horrible, painful, stupid morning that he had never called his dad, never told what had happened.

 

But he would have found out anyway, the same way everyone else did with that fucking video.

 

Kurt flings himself backward on the bed, laying out and covering his head with his arms.

 

“What’s wrong?” Finn asks, voice painfully genuine.

 

“I’m so embarrassed,” Kurt groans, burying his head in a pillow.  His next words are little more than muffled sounds. “I can’t believe I did that.”

 

“Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself.  And besides, it’s not so bad – no one at the mall actually knew who you were.” Finn shifts awkwardly.

 

Kurt lets out a moan. “All of the Starbucks workers heard. They’ve known my order for months! They know!”

 

The bed dips as Finn sits on the edge, hands fidgeting as he wipes his palms on his jeans yet again. “But Kurt – it’s not like they’ll judge you for that, for something completely out of your control.”

 

Kurt lifts his head from the pillow and half-heartedly glares at his step-brother. “Azimio did.”

 

“Azimio is a jerk.”

 

Kurt’s chin falls to his chest as he gives a minuet nod, not denying the assessment in any way.  But it was more than that – the way Azimio went on for so long, kept nagging about how much he liked it, makes him wonder what exactly that video contains.

 

~

 

It has been a week and two days since he lost something, no, had something ripped away from him, that he had always thought he would give away at a time of his choosing. On his own terms.

 

Kurt always thought that he would lose his virginity to a boy he loved, to a man who loved him, too, and would show him through the most intimate of sexual acts. Who would make him feel special and loved.

 

Instead he feels dirty and used; what’s even worse is that so many people know all about it.

 

Before yesterday, before he encountered Azimio in the mall, he could tell himself that people would all know it was a rape – that they would be decent enough to not mention it. But now he’s not so sure.

 

He has been away from school for a week, a lenience on his dad’s part that has allowed Kurt to clear his mind with mundane tasks and things that he enjoys. But he has to go back to Dalton on Monday, where he will face all of his classmates for the first time since the video was sent out. Since they all saw him naked and under another man.

 

Azimio’s words have been haunting him, creeping into his thoughts without warning throughout the evening yesterday and all today. When he walked into the empty living room early in the morning, when he was wiping excess moisturizer from his face in front of his vanity, when he chopped vegetables for a salad at lunch. One moment he will be absorbed by one task or another, the next they are there, echoing in his head; taunting him.

 

“ _That looked like one sweet hook-up. You sure enjoyed it._ ”

 

It could be nothing – just the cruel words of a high school bully who saw something he didn’t understand. Or it could be something more. There could be something in that video, something that he can’t remember, that all of these people know about and are judging him by.

 

He doesn’t know if he can do it, doesn’t know if he should. But every time he resolutely decides to stay away from his computer, away from temptation, there is something nagging at the back of his mind. Teasing him with a promise of truth, of closure.

 

He spends the day doing little things around the house, trying to drag his mind away from what he knows could be disastrous. But every time he starts doing something, gets even a seconds’ reprieve from the all-consuming thought, it will be back.

 

When he can’t take it any more, can’t take another moment of not knowing what happened, he makes up his mind. He has to watch it, has to find out what is in that stupid video, and he can’t wait much longer.

 

~

 

Kurt sits cross-legged on his bed, the perfectly made duvet crinkling under his weight and his cell phone sitting face-up just inches in front of him. The blank screen taunts him, calls to him, and it is almost torture to make up his mind.

 

To his left on his little desk rests his laptop, the lid closed but the machine powered up – his e-mail inbox is open and ready; all he needs to do is move over there and lift the lid.

 

It scares him, though, what he might see. What if it is so horrible, so embarrassing, that he will never be able to face anyone who saw it, saw him, again?

 

There is a big difference between abstractly knowing that there is a video of him being drugged and raped, and seeing it for himself.

 

Letting out a resolute huff of air, Kurt reaches forward and picks up his phone, thrusting his thumb down onto the ‘send’ button. It only takes two rings before a voice on the other end answers.

 

“Kurt? What’s going on?”

 

Kurt smiles as Blaine’s voice washes over him, his smooth timbre a calming balm to his nerves. “Not too much – I just wanted to talk to you about something. Do you – are you busy?”

 

Blaine’s answer is quick. “No, not at all. Ask away.”

 

The smile fades from Kurt’s lips fast and he finds himself hesitating.

 

“Kurt?”

 

“Yeah, I’m here. Just – please don’t freak out, okay?”

 

“What’s going on?” There is a new urgency in Blaine’s voice, and Kurt thinks that maybe he shouldn’t have opened the conversation quite like that. “Are you okay?”

 

“I’m fine,” Kurt says insistently. “The question I have, it’s just a little… odd.”

 

“What is it?”

 

Worrying at his lip, Kurt asks, “In the video, the one that Ian sent out, did it – did it look like I wanted it?”

 

Kurt’s heart beats hard as Blaine remains silent, breath sharp on the other end of the line, and he starts to feel a rush of embarrassment take him over. This was so stupid – he should never have tried to get out of watching that stupid video, should have just manned up and hit ‘play’. Now Blaine is going to think he’s some perverted freak, asking for details about his own rape.

 

“I – um. I don’t know, Kurt,” Blaine says finally. “I didn’t watch it, not more than the first few seconds.”

 

Kurt nods, even though he knows Blaine can’t see him.

 

“Why would you want to know that, Kurt? I mean, why would you even think –?”

 

“How did you know?” Kurt interrupts. “How did you know that it wasn’t something that I agreed to?”

 

Kurt hears Blaine sigh softly. “Because I know you, Kurt, and I know that you wouldn’t do something like that. You wouldn’t send something so private to anyone.”

 

Tears are starting to build in Kurt’s eyes and he wishes he could just stop crying, stop feeling so much all of the time. “Okay. Thank you, Blaine.”

 

“Are you okay? I can come over, if you want.”

 

A spark of something warm ignites in Kurt chest at Blaine offer. “No, that’s fine. I’m fine. Thank you, though.”

 

“It’s seriously no problem, Kurt. I can be there in two hours, one and a half if I leave now.”

 

Smiling, Kurt says, “No, no. You don’t have to do that. I’m fine – don’t worry, okay? I just wanted to know; it’s been bothering me.”

 

“Okay – but you know I’m going to worry anyway, right?” Blaine sounds uncertain, like he wants to press, but doesn’t want to at the same time.

 

“Heh,” Kurt huffs out, “I figured.” His eyes keep falling toward his laptop, and Kurt almost literally has to rip them away before they can become fixated. “Why don’t we meet up tomorrow,” he says suddenly. “We can watch movies and look over the recent issues of Vogue.”

 

“I’d like that.” Kurt can hear the smile in Blaine’s voice.

 

“Great. I’ll text you later about, okay?”

 

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

 

“Then I guess I’ll talk to you later,” Kurt says. “Good night, Blaine.”

 

“Good night, Kurt.”

 

Kurt pulls his cell from his ear slowly and ends the call. He then rubs a hand roughly over his face, ignoring the voice in the back of his head telling him that he should be careful with his skin, especially because he’s so stressed, and looks at his laptop again.

 

That didn’t answer anything for him. Not what he needs to know, anyway, and Kurt doesn’t know of any other options.

 

Sliding from the bed slowly, like any movement too fast or too sharp could disturb some sleeping beast, Kurt approaches the chair at his computer desk and sits. The closed lid of his laptop taunts him, and his hand shakes as he reaches forward and opens it.

 

It doesn’t take long to find the e-mail, the one Ian had sent him last week with the video attachment, and when he sees it he almost can’t do it. But he has to; he has to know. So he opens the link quickly before he can change his mind.

 

The video flicks on to reveal Ian’s dorm room, and Kurt immediately finds his eyes drawn to the figure on the bed; it’s obviously him, devoid of any clothing and lying languidly against the pillows. A dark shadow appears to the right of the screen, and it is revealed to be Ian, naked and hard. Kurt almost has to physically stop his head from jerking away from the screen.

 

Kurt’s fingers hover over his mouse, the pointer already highlighting the red ‘X’ in the top right corner, but he doesn’t click it. Not yet. He has to know first.

 

Kurt sees the him from the video say something, his lips moving silently on the screen. Reaching over to his iPod, Kurt disconnects his ear buds and plugs them into his laptop, pressing the small speakers into his ears as he turns the volume up.

 

The sound quality is poor, so Kurt turns the volume up a little more and watches his mouth carefully. He doesn’t feel anything right now, seeing this, and he wonders if it’s because he can’t remember, if it is because it really doesn’t feel like it’s _him_ on that bed.

 

“I- I’m tired.” The voice of his past self is slurred, like he is trying to keep himself from falling asleep. The way that his head is nodding, the way he laid out on the bed, makes Kurt think that he must have been close to falling unconscious.

 

Ian climbs on the bed and lies out behind him, pulling Kurt to his chest in a hold that Kurt can remember being in several times with Ian. The way his back almost tingles from the remembered feeling makes his skin crawl, makes him want to claw at the skin of his back to remove the lingering sensation.

 

“It’s okay, baby,” whispers Ian’s voice in his ears, and Kurt sees the older man place a kiss on his shoulder. “You’ll be fine; I’ll take care of you.”

 

Kurt slams his finger down on the mouse, exiting from the window on his computer as he watches Ian’s hand caress over his hip and start to turn Kurt onto his stomach and roll on top. 

 

As the background wallpaper of his computer fills his vision, Kurt stands from his chair and just breathes. He can’t do it. There is no way he can watch any more of that, not without screaming.

 

Numb, Kurt’s eyes flick to his door, evaluating the solid barricade separating him from the rest of the house. He doesn’t want to stay in his room, can’t stand the thought of spending the rest of the night locked inside, so he makes his way out the door and into the hall.

 

Kurt walks down the stairs woodenly, eyes wide and unblinking.  The images, grainy and stark, are frozen in his mind, a sickening glance at something so horrible that he can barely comprehend the reality of it.

 

He feels relief and shame warring within him; he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t go through with watching the video. He wonders if his inability to do so makes him weak.

 

At the bottom of the stairs a single streak of light cuts across the floor, bisecting the hallway between the entry hall and the kitchen.  His feet hit the floor at the bottom of the stairs, and his bare toes are chilled by the change from carpet to hardwood.

 

The faint sound of the TV is overlapped by two voices talking, his dad and Carole, and Kurt looks in the direction of the kitchen, through which is the living room, and hesitates.  He then pivots in the other direction, shoves his bare feet into a pair of shoes, and quietly opens the front door.

 

The last time he had done this, yesterday on the way to the mall, it had been light and spotted with people on the street.  This time, as he gently shuts the door behind him, there is no one in sight and the world is cloaked in darkness.

 

Kurt doesn’t know where he’s going; he doesn’t know when or where his is going to stop; only that he has to keep moving. He feels like he’s running from something, and maybe he is.

 

He walks for blocks and blocks, the dark houses of Lima’s inhabitants passing by in a blur of siding and stucco.  He sees a park ahead, one that he’s only ever visited by the light of day, and turns that way, eyes locking on a bench.

 

Kurt sits on the bench and leans back, slouching so that his neck rests on the top slat of wood, and stares into the night sky.  The stars above shine and wink at him, wavering in what he can only describe as a ‘twinkling’ pattern.

 

He wishes that he didn’t know that stars don’t actually twinkle; wishes that he’d never read about atmospheric disturbance and its effect on visibility in the night sky. Maybe if he didn’t know, didn’t understand, he could believe in the presence of magic or miracles.

 

Maybe if he believed that there was a cure, sudden and one hundred percent guaranteed to work, he wouldn’t feel like he’s at the bottom of a pit, unable to ever rise from it again.

 

As his eyes trace along Orion’s Belt, Kurt hears footsteps approaching along with the sound of bottles clinking together. He rolls his head to the side and sees a familiar figure lit by a streetlight in the distance. He turns back to the stars.

 

A single shooting star streaks overhead, its bright path quickly extinguished, fading into nothing. It reminds Kurt that he should Google the next meteor shower, see when it is; they really are a beautiful spectacle to witness. He watched one with his mother once.

 

There is a heavy ‘whump’ as Puck sprawls on the bench beside him, setting his six-pack of beer down between them.

 

“Hummel,” acknowledges Puck as he reaches for a bottle and pops the cap off with his belt buckle.

 

Rolling his eyes, Kurt replies, “Puckerman.”

 

Taking a long pull from the bottle, Puck swallows and asks, “What’re you doing out here?”

 

Kurt shrugs, continuing to look up. “Needed to get away.”

 

Puck merely nods in response, in understanding, and takes another drink of beer.

 

There is only an occasional wisp of cloud to obscure the night sky, floating a slow path across the heavens, and Kurt lets his eyes drift lazily with one. 

 

They sit in silence for close to half an hour, Puck draining his first beer and quickly working his way through a second and then sipping on a third. Kurt, neck stiff from the awkward position, sits up, leaning his elbows on his thighs.

 

“Did you watch it?” Kurt’s question hangs between them, quiet and calm.

 

Puck takes a sip of beer. “Yeah.”

 

“The whole thing?” This time his voice is coloured by a hint of anxiety. And curiosity.

 

Puck shrugs, eyes facing forward and beer bottle dangling from his fingers. “Most of it.”

 

“Why?”

 

Puck turns and looks at Kurt for the first time in their conversation, eyes hazed with alcohol, but still intense. “I had to know.” The answer is simple, to the point.

 

Kurt nods and licks his lips, looking upward to try and stem any tears from falling from his eyes.

 

Puck watches him for a minute, eyes trailing over what Kurt knows to be a sloppily picked outfit and dark rings around his eyes, and then turns away. “Anyone who watched it the whole way through knows it wasn’t –” He cuts off, like he can’t think of the right word to use.

 

“Consensual,” Kurt offers.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Kurt uses the tips of his fingers to sooth the lines of his eyebrows, massaging his temples when he finishes. “I couldn’t do it.”

 

“What?” Puck asks, looking over. Kurt meets his eyes briefly, then tears away to focus on the ground. “Don’t be stupid, princess. You don’t need to.”

 

Kurt huffs out a little laugh and nods even as a tear slips from his left eye. “Thanks, Noah.”

 

Kurt notices, as Puck brings his third beer to his lips once again, that this is the first time since they joined Glee that Puck hasn’t offered him some type of drink. Puck’s always been the kind to share at least some of his illegally-procured wares, and Kurt has always said ‘no’. This time he never even had to.

 

Watching the other boy lean back against the bench and look upward, Kurt is grateful. In his own way, Puck can be very caring and thoughtful – it just takes some time to see it.

 

“You gonna be okay Hummel?”

 

Kurt leans back and looks into the sky again, the single wet tear track drying on his cheek. “I don’t know.”

 

Sniffing, Kurt lets his eyes wander to the side, watching the side of Puck’s face. “I have to get a bunch of blood tests, just in case – in case he gave me something. I just – there is so much that could go wrong. Even more than it already has.”

 

Kurt doesn’t know why he confessed that to Puck – they aren’t that close, and this is so intensely personal. But out of all of the people he knows, other than maybe Santana, Puck is the only one he thinks will get it. Will understand how big of a concern it is to know that you may have caught something from a sexual partner.

 

Puck sighs and Kurt watches as he twirls the neck of the beer bottle in his fingers. “That’s rough.”

 

Puck doesn’t say anything more, just sits with Kurt in silence for a little while, and for that Kurt is relived. He doesn’t need some big reaction; he doesn’t need someone to lie to him about how okay it will be. Sometimes you just need someone who will listen.

 

A little while passes, and Kurt can feel Puck staring at him, watching him, and he closes his eyes. He wants to erase all of this from everyone’s memories, turn back time and never take Ian’s number, never be stupid enough to believe in the goodness of people. Because if this has taught him anything, it’s that even people you think you can trust, who you think you know, can ruin you if they want to.

 

“Come on, Hummel,” Puck says suddenly as he sits up and grabs his six-pack. “I’ll walk you home.”

 

Together they walk away from the bench, the dark night sky scattered with billions of stars overhead, and turn toward Kurt’s house. As they walk Kurt studies Puck, sees the tension in his shoulders and the hard clench of his jaw. He looks angry and determined, something that Kurt has only ever seen on the rare occasion, something that Puck tends to exude when he’s feeling vindictive.

 

“You won’t find him, you know,” Kurt says, watching Puck for a reaction.

 

Puck’s brows pull downward and his lips purse together a little harder. “And why is that?”

 

“He’s in custody. We’re – my dad and I – we’re pressing charges.”

 

Puck looks over, his face hard and unreadable except for the small spark of surprise, and his knuckles whiten from gripping the handle of his six-pack too hard. “Good.”

 

Kurt knows that in one word, Puck has managed to express his conflicted feelings about what Kurt has told him. Puck has always been the one to try and solve problems by fighting, by using his physicality to get what he wants, and Kurt can tell that the other boy regrets not being able to handle this himself.

 

Since glee club came together under Mr. Shuester and Puck joined alongside Mike and Matt, Kurt has experienced the slow fall into camaraderie with him.  It wasn’t something that came suddenly, and they weren’t trading secrets and having videogame marathons, but it was an understanding.

 

As they climb the pathway to his front door, Kurt looks over at Puck, at the way his head is tilted just a little downward, and is glad to call him a friend.  Even if, right now, it’s only in his mind.

 

When they reach Kurt’s front door, they stop and stand in silence, a quiet understanding and companionship that neither needs to speak about or explain.

 

Kurt looks over at Puck and gives him a little smile. “Thank you, Noah.”

 

Puck smirks and lets one of his hands rest on Kurt shoulder in a move Kurt has seen him express with other members of the glee club. “Not a problem, Hummel. Let me know if there’s anyone you need me to beat into a pulp.”

 

The offer is larger then it sounds, and Kurt smiles a littler harder in result before reaching out a hand to grab the door knob so he can go inside.

 

The door flings open before Kurt can even touch the handle, and the large figure of his father stands framed by the doorway, the light of the front entry haloing him. The hand Puck had placed on Kurt’s shoulder slides away slowly as Kurt turns toward the deeply scowling face of his dad.

 

Burt left hand is clenched tight on the doorframe, while his right hand curls around a familiar object: Kurt’s cell phone.

 

Kurt’s eyes take in his phone, and he winces internally; he hadn’t even realized that he had forgotten it.

 

“Kurt,” Burt starts, but then he sees Puck and he says, “Puckerman?”

 

“Hey Mr. Hummel, what’s up?”

 

Kurt doesn’t know whether he wants to laugh or cringe more, so he settles with staying silent.

 

“What are you doing, Kurt? You leave in the middle of the night, don’t tell anybody where you’re goin’, and don’t even take your cell phone.” His dad sounds angry and worried, just like he had on the phone last week, and Kurt feels a familiar pit of guilt dig deeper into his chest.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I just needed to get out. I didn’t even think – I’m sorry.”

 

Burt reaches forward and pulls Kurt into a hug, and Kurt, cheek pressed into his dad’s shoulder, can see Puck watching them.  There is something akin to jealousy in his eyes, but it is gone the second he realizes Kurt is watching him.

 

“Well. I’ll catch ya later, Hummel. Bye Mr. Hummel,” Puck says, conveniently keeping his six-pack out of sight, and starts walking away.

 

His dad grunts roughly in response to Puck, and Kurt lifts a hand and waves.

 

“You scared me again, kid,” his dad says, disengaging from the hug. “You need to tell me next time you do something like this, okay? Or at least take your cell phone.”

 

Kurt nods and steps into the house behind his dad and lets the older man shut and lock the door. “I know,” Kurt says. “I really just didn’t think. I won’t do it again.”

 

His dad looks at him as though evaluating him and Kurt notices the red around his eyes, the way his lashes are spiked together a little, and feels a sting of pain pierce his chest.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

~

 

Kurt goes up to his room feeling miserable, knowing that his little trip has caused his family, his dad, to suffer. 

 

What makes it even worse is that he knows, if he had the chance, he would do it all again.

 

Turning to look behind him as he reaches his door, Kurt sees Carole breaching the top of the staircase, a small bowl and spoon in her hands.

 

Carole hands Kurt the bowl of ice-cream with a slight smile and kind eyes. “Here,” she says, “I figured that you would like some before Finn inhales the rest of the carton.”

 

Kurt gives a breathy laugh and takes the bowl. “Thank you.” Looking more closely, he sees that it is mint chocolate chip, his favourite kind. And instantly knows that Finn would never eat any of this; Finn, for some reason Kurt cannot even fathom, refuses to eat green ice cream.

 

This is Carole’s way of sneaking him a treat when she knows, or thinks, he needs a little something. It is gestures like these that make Kurt realize how hard she tries to take care of him and Finn, because he though it is a small offering, it means a lot.

 

Carole turns away and starts to walk out of the room, her hair swirling around her neck. “Oh,” she says as she reaches the doorway, turning back, “I almost forgot: Mercedes called.”

 

Surprise and apprehension fill Kurt as he asks, “Oh?”

 

“About two hours ago when you were gone.” Carole gives him one last smile, one that is motherly and caring. “Goodnight, sweetie.”

 

“Goodnight, Carole.”

 

Kurt shuts his door and sits on his bed with the bowl of ice-cream cradled in one hand, absently swirling the thick substance with the spoon.  He isn’t really hungry, but as he takes a small scoop into his mouth, he decides that it doesn’t really matter. The treat is delicious.

 

Kurt hasn’t heard from Mercedes since Friday the week before last, when she tried to call him after the video was sent out. He knows she cares for him, knows that she is still one of his best friends, but he can’t understand why she never called again. Or texted, or e-mailed.

 

Rachel has told everyone to give him space, he knows this because he sent her a text asking her to, but he didn’t think Mercedes would listen to that. She’s far too sassy and independent to follow Rachel blindly.

 

But he can’t only blame her. He didn’t try to call her, didn’t text or e-mail her. But he had hoped he wouldn’t have to be the one to do so.

 

And though she called first, he wishes it hadn’t take over a week for it to happen.

 

~

 

Blaine shows up at the door just before lunch, stripping his scarf from his neck and hanging his coat in the front hall closet. Kurt smiles at him and they hug; the easy closeness is almost more than Kurt can handle, even if he is grateful for it.

 

They have watched a couple of movies on Kurt’s laptop and Carole has started dinner downstairs, the warm smells wafting upward, when Kurt looks over at Blaine. The question that bubbles from his chest is something that he hasn’t defined, not in his head or out loud, and the simplicity of it shocks Kurt.

 

“Is there something wrong with me?”

 

Blaine’s mouth falls open and he just looks at Kurt, comprehension missing from his eyes. “What?”

 

Kurt shrugs and repeats, “Is there something wrong with me? Is there something about me that screams ‘victim, come and get it!’”

 

“Why would you –” Blaine cuts himself off and shakes his head, as though to dislodge something from his mind. “You can’t control other people, Kurt, and none of this has anything to do with you.”

 

“Oh yeah?” challenges Kurt, but without any passion or anger. “Then why did these things happen to me? First Karofsky kisses me out of nowhere – well, out of some repressed attraction, I suppose – and then Ian _drugs me_ so he can – he can have his way with me. It can’t be a coincidence.”

 

Blaine licks his lips and opens his mouth a few times without speaking. He finally sighs and closes his eyes as though trying to compose himself. “It’s not about something being _wrong_ with you, Kurt,” he finally says.

 

“Then what is it?” Kurt feels sort of desperate, like he needs some kind of answer.

 

“It’s because there are so many things _right_ with you.” Blaine is smiling at him, but his eyes are sad. “You are so amazing, Kurt, inside and out. And people see that – they see it because it practically radiates from you. They want that. They want you.”

 

Disbelief is the first emotion to hit Kurt. It must show on his face, because Blaine reaches forward and grabs Kurt’s hand in his own. It takes him a moment, one where nervousness and uncertainty reign supreme, before he manages to whisper, “Then why didn’t you want me?”

 

Kurt instantly regrets saying it, feels a flush of shame blaze across his face, and he wishes he could take it back. Blaine is looking at him with a pained expression, his eyes pits of distress. “I’m sorry,” Kurt says. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

 

Blaine shakes his head, but pulls his hand away. “No. It’s okay.”

 

The loss of contact hits Kurt in the chest like a physical blow and he wants to curl into himself and pretend this had never happened. “It’s not. It’s not the same thing.”

 

“But it is,” Blaine says, eyes locking with Kurt’s. “I’m sorry if I made you think that you were… unwanted. But – I mean – I’m not good with this stuff, Kurt. You know, relationships, and I was afraid.”

 

“Of what?”

 

“Of losing what we had if it didn’t work, of misinterpreting what I was feeling. I didn’t want to mess us up.” Blaine’s shoulders droop. “And then you met Ian, and –”

 

“Yeah.” Kurt doesn’t know what to feel. Just a few weeks ago he would have been trying to keep his heart from exploding out of his chest from excitement, from the knowledge that Blaine didn’t just think of him as a friend. But right now, after what happened, all he feels is sad.

 

~

 

Blaine leaves with a procession of hugs and farewells from the Hummel family, walking out into the early evening with a light coat over his shoulders and a Dalton scarf around his neck. Kurt’s heart aches as he goes, and the remnants of their conversation are like lead weights inside of his chest.

 

It has been a week and four days since that night, and Blaine has been a constant. No matter the time or the difficulty of the situation, Blaine has been there for Kurt.  The only person around more is his dad.

 

Blaine’s presence has been a double-edged blade, though; Kurt is so grateful, so happy, that he has such a wonderful friend, one who wants to spend so much time with him. But it is a constant reminder of what could – what couldn’t – have been.

 

Especially now that he knows that Blaine thinks of him like _that_. Now that he has had time to think about it.

 

As much as Kurt keeps the saying ‘the past is in the past’ interwoven in all of his introspection, he can’t seem to stop wondering how it could have been different.  What it could have been like if Blaine had only stepped up and taken a chance on him.

 

There is a part of him, one that he will keep locked up deep inside, that holds a reserve of resentment for Blaine. It is small and he hates that it even exists, but it is there nonetheless and there is nothing he can do, nothing that he can think of to do, that will make it go away.

 

He doesn’t blame Blaine for what happened – how could he? – but the ‘what if’s’ and ‘could have been’s’ haunt him in ways that are deeper than his logical surface consciousness. They plague him, swarm his mind and make him want to scream.

 

They make him want to rally against any reason that Blaine had to not want him before he had met Ian. Make him wonder what is so wrong with him that Blaine couldn’t see beyond it.

 

Even though he knows these thoughts aren’t true, that what happened had nothing to do with any failing on his or Blaine’s part, they still exist.  And Kurt knows that he will do everything in his power to keep Blaine from ever knowing that he thinks them – these are the things that whisper in the back of Kurt’s mind in the dark of night. And they will stay that way.

 

~

 

Kurt sits alone in his room, an open issue of Vogue on the bed beside him, two of his class textbooks piled on the other side of him, and his phone held in one hand.  He feels like he has to do something, anything, but nothing feels right.

 

His mind won’t stop spinning with thoughts, the lines of them trailing around and around despite any sort of distraction he tries, and they are starting to take over everything.

 

No matter how many times he tells himself that he is justified in how he feels, in reacting so strongly, there is a deep shame that eats at him. It will flare when he is having a low day, when his emotion are in turmoil, and he will feel guilty for letting what Ian did to him affect him.

 

Sometimes when he just wants to sit alone and cry, or call Blaine and talk, he will force himself to get on with life, to ignore how horrible he feels.

 

It isn’t some inner strength that keeps him moving, leaves him silent; it is the overwhelming sense of shame that encompasses everything.

 

More often than not he finds his daily activities tainted by sadness and heart-wrenching anguish and irritation over how he can’t just follow his emotions, act on them, without feeling like he is doing something wrong.

 

He might not be able to remember that night, what Ian did to him, but he does remember waking up that morning. The way he ached in places he had never hurt in before, the way bruises had littered his body and confusion had blanketed his mind.

 

Nausea rises in him, bile burning his throat, whenever he remembers the slick wetness between his legs – the way it had pooled underneath him as he sat waiting for his dad.  It makes his skin crawl to think of it.

 

It is odd, though; there are times when he forgets all about it, when he can get through hours and hours like nothing ever happened, but then there are other times when it’s like it is eating him alive, consuming his thoughts and his dreams.

 

He wonders which makes him weaker; ignoring how he feels and letting the shame run him or giving in and spending an hour on the phone to Blaine crying.

 

It is one of those nights, the ones that leave him sick with sadness and anger, and he doesn’t want to be alone.

 

The urge to do something battles with the urge to keep quiet, to let no one know, and Kurt feels as though he is being pulling in two. He knows that if he gives in and calls Blaine, or goes and talks to his dad, it will be like drinking the most delicious coffee and then being faced with a horrid aftertaste.

 

Sometimes, he thinks as he locks the keys of his phone and settles more firmly into his bed, it is better to do nothing.

 

~

 

Kurt has come to appreciate his backyard more than any other place in his house or around it.  Inside is too stuffy, too enclosed, and being outside is freeing and refreshing. The tall fence surrounding the entire property and the tall trees that line most of those same edges are a perfect barrier from the rest of the world.

 

It is still early in the year, less than a week into the spring season, and the cold nips at his skin whenever he goes outside. But Kurt has come to like the feeling, the way it sensitizes him and grounds him, leaves him wide awake and in the moment.

 

This – being outside with the sun shining on his face and a cool breeze brushing over him – is peaceful, something that Kurt has never really enjoyed before. He wonders what other aspects of him have changed because of Ian.

 

Blaine shifts on the ground beside him, stretching out his arms before going back to reading the book that he has perched on his knees. His dark hair shines in the sunlight and the features of his face are highlighted by the light’s angle, making Kurt wish he had a camera.

 

Kurt bites his lip as he peruses Blaine, and a question bubbles up from within. “You know what we talked about – how things, things between us, could have been different?”

 

Blaine looks up from his book and nods. “Of course.” He doesn’t say more, but his eyes show his confusion, his curiosity, about what Kurt means.

 

Kurt licks his lips, nervous and unsure, but desiring to ask anyway. “Do you think we could ever be like that? Together?”

 

Blaine’s face freezes, eyes caught on Kurt’s eyes, and his mouth is dropped just a little bit open. It takes him a few seconds to take control of himself, and when he does he blinks hard and swallows. “Are – are you sure?” he asks cautiously. “Is that what you really want?”

 

Kurt smothers the peak of irritation that builds in his chest and says, “Eventually. Yes.”

 

“Eventually?”

 

Kurt cringes on the inside and drags his eyes from Blaine’s as he says, “I don’t think I’m ready for much right now. As much as I’d like to say ‘hey, I’m doing great’, it’s not like that. I don’t want – I don’t want to rush into anything before I’m ready.” He pauses, picking at a blade of grass poking up between his legs. “But I’d like to try. If you would.”

 

Blaine grabs hold of Kurt shoulder, pressing gently until Kurt turns his head to look at him again. His eyes, warm and bright in the light of day, are compassionate and something that Kurt can only describe as happy. “Of course I want to. I just don’t want to do anything that will make you uncomfortable.”

 

Kurt smiles, a little unsure. “I really want this, Blaine. I do.”

 

Blaine continues to look at him.

 

Kurt licks his lips. “But I – I don’t want to hold you back.”

 

“Don’t say that,” Blaine says. “You won’t hold me back.”

 

“I might,” Kurt says with a little shrug. “I’m scared, Blaine, and I’m scared of how long it will be until I’m not scared anymore.” Kurt lets out a little laugh, dark and nervous. “If that makes any sense.”

 

“I understand.” Blaine moves his hand from its place on Kurt’s shoulder and finds his way to Kurt’s hand, lacing their fingers together gently. “Let’s not worry about it though, okay? Not now. We can just see how it goes; no expectations, no pressure.”

 

Kurt clenches his jaw tight, a wave of emotion closing his throat tightly. “That,” he chokes out, “that sounds good.”

 

Blaine gives Kurt’s fingers a squeeze, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Good. I really, really want to be with you Kurt. But if I ever,” he says, “ever make you uncomfortable –”

 

“You won’t,” Kurt reassures him, warmed by the concern.

 

“But if I do,” Blaine says anyway. “Promise to tell me?”

 

Kurt smiles, eyes moist and throat tight as he nods. “Yeah.”

 

Blaine’s worry is reassuring, it lets him know that he cares, but Kurt wishes it wasn’t there in the first place.

 

~

 

When Kurt opens the front door, hair immaculate even though it is eight in the morning and he has nowhere to go today, the last person he expected to see staring back at him is Mercedes.

 

“Hi,” she says, her voice quiet and subdued. It reminds Kurt nothing of his best friend, the one who threatened to “cut a bitch” when he had told her he was dating Ian.

 

“Hi,” he says, unconsciously swinging the door open to let her inside.

 

When Mercedes approaches she does so tentatively, hesitance painting her every action. She looks like she is afraid that he will yell at her or tell her to leave.

 

He really doesn’t know what to expect – there was a time, not so long ago, that this would have been easy, that he would have known exactly how this would go. But not now.

 

She is so familiar, so comforting even as just a presence, that Kurt aches to hug her, to have her hold him tight and say everything will be alright. A sliver of resentment flares like a wind-fuelled ember in his heart; he would have done anything to have that comfort over the last few weeks.

 

But then all of the pain and the distance between them melts away as she comes in close, eyes unsure and arms loose at her side. Kurt is left feeling bare. Mercedes knows him so well, is almost a sister to him, and as much as he should feel different than he used to around her, everything is the same.

 

Her arms are suddenly around him, hands locking behind his back as she squeezes him tight. “I’ve missed you.”

 

Kurt bites his lip and hugs back, eyes sliding shut as he revels in her embrace. He just wants his best friend back.

 

“I’m so sorry, boo,” Mercedes says, voice muffled in his shoulder. “I should have been here.”

 

Kurt stays silent, head bent forward so that his forehead is near Mercedes’ hair. He wants to says “I know” and “you should have”, but he doesn’t.

 

“I just let her take control, let her go on her own. And then I felt so guilty – it should have been me. I should have been there for you.” She’s talking about Rachel.

 

Kurt doesn’t want to fight, not really, and so he just nods, saying, “You are now.” Kurt pulls away a little after he says it and looks down at Mercedes. “Speaking of – shouldn’t you be at school right now?”

 

Mercedes smiles just a little and shakes her head. “Naw. I had something more important to do.”

 

As they share a smile and Kurt lets Mercedes further into the house, he knows that they aren’t completely okay. Maybe it’s the way they have some awkward fumbles where neither knows what to say, or maybe it’s because sometimes he wants to tell her how he feels and finds that he can’t. But it is a start, and that’s better than where they were before.

 

~

 

The grass is soft beneath Kurt’s fingers as he plays with the delicate blades, running his fingers over and between them. His other hand, clasped in Blaine’s, reminds him of how good life can sometimes be.

 

Kurt and Blaine are sitting in Kurt’s backyard again, thighs pressed together as they enjoy the heat of the sun. It is the first day of true warmth in the year and they have brought out a small picnic blanket, which Kurt lets his bare feet stretch over the edge of, enjoying the feel of soft grass under his toes.

 

As they sit in silence Kurt thinks back to all of Ian’s actions – analyses every move that the man had made in his mind, and he just can’t understand. It is something that he has wondered about since it had happened, and he can’t figure it out.

 

Why would he do this?

 

Why would he video it, leave that note on the bedside table, send Kurt that message – any of it? It doesn’t make any sense, not unless Ian thought that he would somehow get away with it, and it makes Kurt’s head spin from the implications.

 

You would have to be mentally ill to do that to someone and think it was okay, right?

 

“He had to have planned it,” Kurt finds himself saying.

 

Blaine shifts and looks over. “Who?”

 

“Ian.” Kurt looks down at his and Blaine’s hands and runs his thumb over the back of Blaine’s hand. “I mean – why else would he have the drugs, the video recorder? He had to have known what he was going to do.”

 

A flash of anger passes over Blaine’s features, blink-and-miss-it quick, and he looks like he doesn’t know what to say. Kurt doesn’t blame him.

 

“I just,” Kurt continues, “don’t understand.”

 

“Neither do it,” Blaine says quietly, squeezing Kurt’s hand.

 

The sound of the back door creaking open sends Kurt’s head swiveling around, his eyes squinting against the sun to see who it is.

 

A large figure in a letterman jacket approaches, his entire body haloed in sunlight, and Kurt recognizes the person because of the distinctive shape of the hair on their head.

 

Puck drops down on the grass beside Kurt, just off of the blanket, and gives a little wave to Blaine before he leans back on his elbows, stretching his legs out and crossing them at the ankle. His face is turned into the sun, the bright rays catching on his mohawk.

 

One brow raised high, Kurt stares at Puck with something that is not quite surprise swirling in him. Since the night they had met at the park and sat together, Kurt has felt a connection to the other boy; he can’t quite call it a friendship yet, but he thinks that it is very close to being so.

 

Puck doesn’t move to face Kurt as he begins to speak. “Azimio was suspended today.”

 

Kurt’s brows pull together in confusion, unsure as to why Puck would tell him this. “And?”

 

“He punched Jacob Ben Israel and destroyed his camera. No one knows why, but I have a good idea of what Jacob was probably asking him about.”

 

Kurt feels a sinking in his chest; he’s been avoiding the gossip blogs connected with McKinley high because he knows what is likely on them. But to have his suspicions confirmed, however subtly, is like a punch to the gut. “Oh.”

 

“Oh,” Kurt says again after a moment, thinking back to the encounter in the mall.

 

“Yeah,” Puck grunts, misunderstanding what Kurt meant. “It doesn’t make any sense, but I thought you might want to know.”

 

Kurt nods, knowing that Puck doesn’t know about what happened in the mall, what he had yelled at Azimio in the heat of their fight. “Thanks.”

 

The three of them sit peacefully for a while, soaking up the sun and letting their thoughts take hold.  Kurt feels calmer and more connected right now than he has in a long time.

 

When the silence has stretched out long, to the point that it is almost becoming tangibly thin, Kurt speaks. “My tests all came back negative. They say Ian is negative, too. I still have to go for a three and six month test, but they think I’m clear.” Kurt says it without preamble, just letting the words fall from his lips.

 

Blaine looks over quickly, his attention intent as he smiles widely. “That’s great news,” he says.

 

Puck doesn’t move, instead keeping still as though he hadn’t heard the announcement. But Kurt sees the way his shoulders relax just a little and the lines on his forehead smooth – it is almost imperceptible, the change.

 

Blaine wraps one arm around Kurt’s shoulders and leans in, sharing his warmth and happiness through touch, and Kurt presses in close too. The way their shoulders fit together, the way they are holding close and intimate is comfortable and easy, and Kurt relaxes into it, enjoying the companionship.

 

~

 

Standing from the kitchen table with his mostly emptied plate in his hands, Kurt makes his way to the sink to put his scraps through the garburator and rinse his dishes.  He can’t help but jump as a hand lands on his shoulder.

 

His dad looks down at him and says, “Nice job on dinner, bud. Me ‘n’ Carole really appreciate you making it.”

 

Kurt smiles at his dad, taking the plate from his hand and clearing it off, too. “It’s no problem, especially not with my recent time off.”

 

Burt nods and the smile drops from his lips as a more concerned expression takes hold. “Speaking of that. Are you ready to go back? Because we can talk to the administration and get you some more time if you need it.”

 

Kurt glances back at the table where Finn and Carole are clearing away the dishes and putting away leftovers before turning back to his dad. “I think I have to be,” he says. “It’s almost been two weeks – I have to go back some time.”

 

His dad doesn’t say anything, his silence an answer on its own, and Kurt turns and hugs him abruptly, cheek resting on a plaid-clad shoulder. “Tomorrow’s a Friday – it’ll only be one day, and then it’s the weekend.”

 

His dad squeezes him tighter.

 

They stay like that for a moment, both absorbed in the embrace, and when Kurt reluctantly pulls away he notices that Finn and Carole have left.

 

Looking into his dad’s eyes and straightening his posture, Kurt says, “I’ll be okay.”

 

Burt nods slowly. “I know you will.” He says it without doubt, as though it is already truth.

 

“Thanks dad. I love you.”

 

Burt smiles and Kurt sees so much in the expression – pride, sadness, hope – that it hurts. “I love you, too.”

 

Kurt leaves his dad in the kitchen with one last quick hug before making his way upstairs.  There is an uncharacteristic amount of clutter littering the floor, textbooks and magazines and a few TV series box sets, but Kurt ignores it in favor of stepping over it all and sitting in front of his computer.

 

The screen glares brightly at him, the familiar sight of his inbox an unwelcome and haunting greeting. He knows that somewhere, about three pages of messages back, a certain e-mail waits.  It taunts him every time he is online, and more often than not he finds himself hovering his mouse over the title, some sort of morbid anxiety settled between his ribs.

 

He clicks ‘back’ in his inbox twice, and when it appears, nondescript but screaming at him all at once, Kurt doesn’t know what to do at first.

 

He has kept it out of some sense of need, and as his hand shifts the mouse to point at the ‘delete’ button, Kurt realizes that he doesn’t need it. There is barely a hesitation as he presses his pointer finger down, causing an ‘are you sure you want to delete?’ warning box appear. It is with even less hesitation that he clicks ‘yes’.

 

Watching the message, along with the video, disappear from the list doesn’t break some damn of emotion and kick-start his healing. It doesn’t make him feel any better about what happened. But it does send a tendril of satisfaction through him.

 

Kurt turns the screen of his computer off and stands, grabbing his cell and typing a message as he walks to his bed. After he hits ‘send’ he leaves his phone on his bed and turns toward his closet.  He knows exactly what he’s going to wear tomorrow.

 

 _Meet at the Lima Bean before class tomorrow? ---Kurt_

 

 _Of course ---Blaine_

**Author's Note:**

> I'm thinking of writing (aka have already started) a series of timestamps/events in this 'verse. Those planned include the first day back at Dalton, the three/six month blood tests, Ian's sentencing and Kurt's first flashback (mine occurred eight years later, so I'll probably set this quite a bit in the future, if only to show a slice of what Kurt's life is like at the time).


End file.
